And hello... again, readers. Neolyph here with yet more Darwin! I've finally reached the part in the story that I actually originally wanted to write, so I'm just banging out chapters here. This one's a tad shorter as its mostly tying up loose ends, but next chapter we will have a return to action. Absolutely fantastic response last chapter btw guys, really motivated me to push through for this chapter. Thanks, you guys are great.
Now, for reviews!
Fenrir44: Leila yes, KoTR, no.
Dany le fou: Nobody in Lelouch's army will be using the Lancelot as Kallen is his only Ace able to pilot it (without a control rig), but he will be cannibalizing it for technology to upgrade the Guren and his Knightmare forces in general.
correnhimself316: In the color-coded map of the Code Geass factions that I downloaded and am using to plot out the political situation for the next act, Australia is independent, but I think that's unrealistic, especially considering New Zealand is listed as Britannian. In my CG-verse, Australia is a Britannian Area with an active resistance—so Lelouch may get involved eventually but they are not an independent power.
And onward, my noble muse!
Chapter 14: Pest Control
Lelouch rubbed his tired eyes, examining the monitors of his workstation. Now that Cornelia had apparently arrived to take over, he needed to keep abreast of whatever changes she implemented in the governmental and military structure.
And of course it just had to be Cornelia that was sent to stop him. Her presence posed both a strategic and personal dilemma for him.
In the scope of his plan for the conquest of Japan, he acknowledged that he'd gotten lucky in his first encounter with that airship of hers. He wouldn't always have an entire mountain of anti-air defenses to occupy her with while he disengaged—and as a guerrilla force he had no other answer to such a weapon. She could just fly it over one of the ghettos and wipe it off the face of the earth.
She would do it, too. Unlike Carine, his sister Cornelia despised nobility and would not let herself be cowed by their complaints. His threat of line assassination would not dissuade her from counter-attacking the ghettos or his bases.
But unfortunately, he couldn't kill her either. She was one of the four half-siblings he bore genuine affection for, along with Schneizel, Euphemia, and Clovis. He considered himself a monster, but even he had lines that he would not cross unless absolutely necessary.
He needed her alive yet off the board. Along with that bloody airship.
Perhaps... both could be accomplished in one stroke.
If he could just get Cornelia seated before him, he was quite certain that he could persuade her to his side. The Emperor's crimes against him would be just as horrifying to her. And if Cornelia was here, that meant Euphy was as well. He knew that his elder sister doted on Euphy just as he did Nunnally. If he could convince her that his aims were for the benefit of people like their younger sisters, she would be his.
As for actually getting her before him, he could think of a few ways to accomplish that. The tricky part was that he couldn't kill anyone. His sister was famously dedicated to her soldiers. Killing them would mean alienating her. He was quite lucky that the knights she'd deployed earlier had all managed to eject.
Following a hunch, he pulled up Fulcrum's intelligence files. He knew that he'd seen designs for that airship before. There it was. It was one of the files his Geass moles in Schneizel's Camelot think tank had leaked him. He hadn't been particularly concerned about the project since his brother was currently in England waiting to invade Europe.
It seemed that he'd lent it to Cornelia.
His eyes roamed over the blueprint. Jackpot. Crew specifications. Required twenty trained specialists to pilot, plus whatever soldiers it was fielding. He thought back to the battle several hours ago. It had dropped in about thirty Gloucesters. Provided that was all of her knights, that brought the crew up to fifty.
So he needed to disable a shielded airship manned by fifty elite Britannian soldiers and capture the two princesses on board—all without killing anyone.
He pulled out his phone and texted Sayoko. Impossible infiltrations were her specialty. She'd analyze the blueprints, draw plans for his inspection, and put the crews of Shadows together.
Setting the issue to the side, he donned his Zero guise, triggered the lock on his office door, and activated a video call. Despite the late hour, the call was answered almost immediately.
"General Smilas," he greeted pleasantly. "I do hope that I didn't wake you."
The French general ignored the jape, clearly having been waiting for his call. He was a large, rugged man with graying feathered hair and a thick beard. Of all the notable figures in the EU, Smilas was one of the few that Lelouch respected. "Zero. I take it this call means that your mission tonight was successful?"
"See for yourself," he replied, forwarding the footage he'd taken of the mine landslide and his attack on the docks. The general's face filled with grim satisfaction as he watched the video.
"My compliments. I've never seen so effective a coup-de-grace."
"I've fulfilled my end of the bargain. Britannia's war machine will splutter and die within weeks—giving your minister his battle-less victory. Upon the arrival of your support, the EU will receive access to an additional seventy-percent of the world's Sakuradite, taken from Britannia."
Smilas nodded. "And the Union has full intentions of coming through on our end. I have four carrier groups out of French South Africa stationed just on the border of Federation waters. I'll give the order right after this call for them to move forward, and they shall be there within five days. Once your island is secured from counter-attack, Minister Philippe will have the Hemicycle recognize you as Emperor of Neo-Japan and a full member nation of the Union."
"Precisely. Do hurry with those carriers. Charles isn't going to like having his prized military-industrial sector starved until he can find another tappable source of Sakuradite in his empire. By my men's estimates, the Britannian fleet in the Hawaiian islands is only five days out as well."
Of course, that estimate did not take into account the fact that as far as the Britannians were concerned, he was still just a terrorist.
"I'm with the fleet myself, Zero. We'll make for Japan at full speed. It was pricey, but we bribed the Chinese Eunuchs into giving us a one-time pass through their waters, so its a straight shot. If we pull this off, I'll personally kiss you on the mouth when I get there—or mask, rather."
Lelouch chuckled to himself. "I think that I'll take a pass. I've been meaning to thank you by the way for recommending the Wild Geese mercenaries to me. They've been most invaluable in getting my soldiers up to par."
"It was nothing," dismissed Smilas, grinning. "Pip's an old friend, and his men have been broke since Minister Philippe ended our hiring of mercs. With your deep pockets, I was just killing two birds with one stone."
"Such a short-minded policy. Mercenaries have been a part of warfare since time immemorial."
"Believe me, I know. Napoleon founded his empire with mercenaries. Yet it seems that the good minister is doing everything in his power to strip France of its greatest leader's legacies."
Beneath his impassive mask, Lelouch smiled. Smilas was definitely of a similar mind to him. So long as he could temper the man's ambitions, he could very well form the integral core for his mid-game. Like a well-played Rook.
He conveyed a conspiratorial look through his faceplate. "Such conversations are ill-suited for a medium such as this. When you land in my country, you and I shall share a drink and we will pontificate on these matters further."
Smilas' face turned intrigued. "I shall greatly look forward to that conversation, Zero. With that, I bid you adieu."
The screen went dark, and Lelouch removed his mask.
"Are you going to come to bed now?" pleaded Kallen, lounging on his office couch like a cat. "If you're insufficiently motivated, I'm sure I could track down Sayoko..."
He sighed. It was nearly dawn, and he'd done all that he could for the moment. The revolution wasn't going anywhere for the moment, and if he didn't get to sleep soon his critical thinking would start to suffer.
"Fine," he relented. "I do still need to reward you for tonight."
The sake flowed freely at the Matsumoto Black Knights base as its soldiers celebrated their victory over the Britannians. Videos had circulated, courtesy of Master Zero, of him obliterating both the Mt. Fuji mines and the Tokyo docks with artillery. Rumors were even going around that the Vicereine had taken her own life out of shame for her inability to beat them.
Had that blasted airship not shown up, it could have been a total victory. But even with its interference, Tetsuo reflected that Master Zero had still managed to pull a miracle from his back pocket.
Even the Frenchmen were having fun. The sergeants had told them all to drink in moderation, then proceeded to outdrink every man there. Perhaps it was their way of showing dominance.
A toast had been proposed to every man lost that night. In total, there had been twenty-two casualties—nine of which had been fatal. Six of them were Sutherland pilots blown up by that airship's cannons before Master Zero locked it down, and the other three were infantrymen who'd fallen during the taking of the security center. Only one of them had been from Matsumoto, but every one of them had a drink in their honor.
Master Zero had promised them V-Day within four months, but Tetsuo was starting to think that he was just being cautious. He wasn't sure how many Knightmares the Occupation still had stashed, but it couldn't be many.
Ken told him not to get his hopes up, but Ken also sucked at parties.
Hubert slowly poked his mirror around the corner and was just about to move through when he froze—throwing his arm out to keep Winston back.
"Motion sensor," he hissed. It was small and inconspicuous, almost blending into the dark corridor of the Ashford sewer system, but it was there, tucked into the upper corner of the upcoming intersection.
They'd been down in these bloody tunnels for hours, and this was the first proper security system he'd seen. They were close.
It was a little-known fact of motion detectors that, to keep them from going off all the time, they required a minimum threshold of movement before they would trigger. Thus, a sufficiently patient intruder could actually bypass one by the simple means of moving very slowly.
"Hold," he instructed Winston, before reaching into his pack and tearing a strip of duct tape off his roll. He then crept at an agonizingly slow pace down the corridor and up to the motion sensor. He very-nearly started when he spotted the metal grate of a deployable gun turret stationed in the roof of the intersection. Just how fucking paranoid was Ashford?
Now sweating at the realization that he was a twitch away from involuntary perforation, he continued his advance towards the sensor. With deliberate, measured movements, he carefully placed the tape over the sensor.
Nothing happened.
He exhaled deeply before turning around to beckon his partner onward and spotting the second motion sensor, carefully hidden in the opposite corner to cover the first.
Oh fuck a duck.
With a mechanical whir, the hatch opened and a mounted HMG lowered out to immediately lock on to him. He managed to dive out the way of the first burst, but then he was prone when it adjusted its aim a second time.
He stared down the cold, soulless barrel of the machine that would take his life, before there was a cacophony of distant rifle fire that snapped the turret's hinge. It whirred downwards, still obviously trying to take aim and failing.
"Move!" barked Winston, still holding his smoking weapon. After shaking off the shock, he scrambled to his feet and sprinted for his partner, snatching up his discarded pack without even breaking stride. Once security forces arrived, these tunnels would become a death trap. They'd have to exfiltrate the same way they'd arrived.
And this time, he wouldn't have a rebreather or diving suit.
Cornelia looked down at the cold, metal table upon which lay the mangled body of her half-sister. She'd never been close with the girl—in fact, she'd quite disliked her. The vicious little brat had constantly bullied Euphemia when they'd been children, and Empress ne Britannia had always wielded her influence to shelter the girl from any consequences for her actions.
But despite all of that, she'd been family. Not close family, but family.
It would have to be a closed-casket funeral. The fall from the towering Viceroy's citadel had reduced her sister to a pulp when she impacted the ground outside. She just thanked god that Euphemia hadn't been there to see it. Her sister was far too sensitive to be witness such a thing.
"Prepare her for burial," she instructed the medical examiner. The woman nodded, drawing a sheet over the body to hide it from sight.
Turning on her heel, she marched out of the private morgue. Guilford, who had been waiting outside to provide her with some privacy, immediately took up his usual post at her shoulder.
No words were exchanged as she stepped inside the shuttle and had it take her back up to the Avalon. All in all, she much preferred it as a command center over the citadel. Purists like Carine's men still treated her and Euphemia with thinly-veiled disdain for their reputation as childhood friends of the 'commoner royals', Lelouch and Nunnally vi Britannia.
She'd invested an inordinate amount of time and money into uncovering the fates of her two closest half-siblings, but she'd never found a thing. They'd simply vanished into the night, along with most of Empress Marianne's household.
Father had refused to task Pendragon Intelligence with finding them, either. It was one of the few things she'd never forgiven him for. 'Worthless' he'd called them.
Sitting herself down at her desk, she composed herself for another conversation with the man.
She was kept waiting for twenty minutes before he deigned to appear on her video screen—the camera angled upwards to highlight his imposing stature. "What is it, child?" he demanded.
"Your daughter Carine is dead, Your Majesty. It appears that she killed herself."
He didn't so much as blink. "And what of it?"
She'd been half-expecting such a reaction, so she didn't lose her composure. "I simply figured that you should be informed in person, Your Majesty."
"In the future, don't bother," he ordered with a wave of his hand. "If a pathetic runt like her was so weak as to take her own life, then she was never fated to rule and is therefore not my daughter. You might as well inform me of the death of a blade of grass as a groundskeeper trims it. Take over as Vicereine and sort the Area out, then return to the European front."
A grimace made its way onto her face. She could just as easily imagine him speaking of Euphemia's death in such a manner and it made her blood boil. At times she questioned why she even fought for her father—but what else would she do? She was a royal, and royals served the Emperor. And she knew that a refusal to serve would mean that Father's gaze would turn to Euphemia for political marriage or worse.
"The war in Europe may no longer be tenable, Your Majesty. I suspect that Carine took her own life because this 'Zero' figure attacked the Sakuradite mines and buried them in a landslide that will take months to clear—and she feared your retribution upon her. But we will soon face a massive Sakuradite shortage."
The Emperor's face reddened with fury, and Cornelia was sickened at this greater reaction than the news of his daughter's suicide. "Exact vengeance upon this 'Zero' figure. Do whatever it takes; burn the entire native population to the ground if you have to."
"I will require additional reinforcements to secure this Area, Your Majesty. Carine's forces have dwindled down to a mere hundred Sutherlands, total, while Zero had somehow amassed a small army."
He narrowed his violet eyes. "I will dispatch a portion of the Pearl Harbor Pacific Fleet to escort a shipment of Sutherlands. Know that if this insurrection is not dealt with by the month's end, I will be... most displeased."
"As you say, Your Majesty."
The video screen blinked out instantly, but she stayed glaring at it a good deal longer.
For the first time in a long time, Charles seethed. He'd been so close to successfully taking Europe. The last six years of painstaking preparation were about to go to waste, and he wasn't a young man anymore. He was gradually beginning to accept that he may not be able to take all of the Thought Elevators in his lifetime—especially with Vincent still missing.
It had seemed so simple in those boyhood days. A world without lies.
But the harsh and cruel realities of the world had hardened him in these days. Killing God. Perhaps it was simply the infantile dream of two children who'd been chewed up and spat out by an uncaring universe.
He was sixty-two now, and he still had only a third of the Thought Elevators under his control. If the Chinese would stop renegotiating the terms of Odysseus' marriage to their Empress he could get two-thirds, but with this sudden weakening of his power base they might pull out altogether.
And even if he got the Chinese, he would have to fight tooth and nail for Europe and Africa. Perhaps if they continued their internal squabbling they would weaken enough that he could reinvade and conquer them, but there was a definite possibility that Cornelia's interrupted invasion of Spain would be the wake up call they needed to organize and repel him at least until the end of his lifetime.
But if not his dream of a world free from lies, what was he striving for? What was he living for?
He'd have to talk with Marianne about these matters. Perhaps she would be able to provide answers.
Lelouch awoke to Sayoko softly shaking his shoulder in bed next to him. He must have been more tired than he thought. Usually, he was a rather light sleeper.
"Master, there's been a security breach."
The words made him snap up like the bed had been set ablaze. Kallen whined in her sleep at the loss of his warmth, but did not awake. "Where?"
"In the Ashford underground, Master, by our hidden maintenance entrance. Someone tripped the motion sensors, and the response team found the machine gun turret shot to pieces. They've initiated a search, but nothing's been found thus far."
He wracked his brain, trying to think of appropriate measures. "Put everything on lockdown—and have the Shadows perform a full security sweep on the whole of Reuben and Ashford in general. If the intruders were in the underground, they were there for Ashford. Have the PMC forces sweep the tunnels and find out how they got in—then close it up."
"Yes, Master," answered Sayoko, standing to dress.
Closing his eyes, he thought further. "Also, bring Nunnally and Milly underground, just to be safe. Don't tell Nunnally about the full extent of the operations down here, of course."
His faithful assassin nodded once more, slipping her uniform on and padding off to relay his orders.
"Is this report accurate?" asked Schneizel, looking up over his tablet at his manservant and only true friend, Kanon Maldini.
"I'm afraid so, Your Highness. Your sister Cornelia penned it personally, and Area 11's DIS office verified the figures and events listed."
That was distressing. Two hundred Sutherlands in themselves were nothing to sneeze at, especially in a land as small as Area 11, but when paired with an additional two hundred unknown but apparently effective Knightmares mixed with mechanized infantry? It was practically overkill.
At least it seemed that their Father had realized the same thing, as the order had just gone out for two shiploads of reinforcement frames backed by naval support to make way for the besieged Area. It seemed the logical, natural move to make in response to the incursion, but something in his gut told him that it was playing into a larger scheme.
This 'Zero' figure was obviously crafty, and it was clear that he was backed by the Europeans. Not only were those IFVs he was fielding of German make, but a move like sabotaging the Fuji mines and blowing up the docks did not benefit him. It would only benefit the Europeans.
And he was afraid that the move had worked. He was expecting the phone call from Minister Philippe any day now with terms for a lengthy ceasefire. He'd have to take it, as well. While they would be reluctant to do it, the French military at least was strong enough to wage an effective war on a Sakuradite-starved Britannia.
Their saving grace was that, as slaves to the popular opinion, the EU was always reluctant to escalate wars. If they could ensure peace for the remainder of their terms, they would.
Unfortunately, Minister Philippe had just started his second term—meaning that he wouldn't settle for less than the entirety of his five-year incumbency.
It was vexing, to say the least. He'd spent the last six years coaxing, advising, and threatening the various factions of European Africa's native population into an effective fighting force, the FPA, and they'd made significant ground. Though fractured and disorganized, they now held all of Africa North of the Congo—denying the EU their famous breadbasket and resource bin. A ceasefire would deprive the FPA of official Britannian support and give the Colonial forces an opportunity to dig their heels in and push back.
So much time, wasted. But at least a few years of nonaggression would give him time to make sure an incident like this never happened again. His mind returned to the Zero issue.
So the Europeans were supplying Zero in exchange for him winning their war without them having to actually fight. But what if the relationship went deeper than that? Short-sighted terrorists tried to 'liberate' their countries from Britannian rule all the time—never stopping to realize that even a complete victory would be nullified within days as Britannia, which controlled a third of the world, simply threw soldiers at the problem until it was sorted.
But it was clear that Zero was not short-sighted. If he was waging such open war on the Occupation, he must have a plan to prevent that exact circumstance from happening. Did he have a larger deal with the Europeans? The backing of another superpower would be one of the only things capable of keeping Britannia from retaking an Area.
Especially when that Area contained seventy-percent of the world's Sakuradite, which was rapidly proving itself the miracle compound that would fuel the future.
Yes, he could imagine Area 11 proving a lucrative enough target for the Europeans to snap up. Normally this was something he could sort out at the negotiation table, trading minor concessions in exchange for the withdrawal of their backing, but that much Sakuradite, especially when it meant denying it to Britannia, would prove too much to give up.
If the EU was intending to secure Area 11 from Britannia, that meant the deploying of forces—either by land through Russia or by sea from French South Africa or German East Africa. By sea was far more likely, strategically-speaking.
European naval forces were inbound, then. And since resupply and reinforcement would be difficult with the Chinese waters between them, it was likely a significant force.
Fortunately, three quarters of the Britannian Pacific Fleet were stationed in the Marianne vi Britannia Naval Base in Northern Area 11. They should be able to repel any sea-borne invasion force.
But both Zero and the Europeans should know that. Unless...
"Pen a message to Cornelia," he ordered Kanon. "Tell her that this 'Zero' will attempt to attack the MvB Base before the reinforcements from the Hawaiian Islands arrive. If he's successful, then Area 11 is lost."
Lelouch sat in his usual head chair at the emergency board meeting called to address the unexpected intrusion. He was completely exhausted, but this was not a time when he could afford to be complacent.
"Sayoko, report."
The assassin slid him a photograph of a small, nondescript black strip barely the size of a postage stamp—attached to some sort of wooden surface.
"It's a bug," she explained. "My Shadows found it in Reuben's office, stuck to his desk."
Ashford had the grace to look sheepish at letting such a security breach occur under his watch.
"Doesn't his office have clean-room systems installed?"
Sayoko nodded, her face steeped in concern. "It does. We've never seen a bug like this one before though. We missed it on the first sweep because nobody should be able to build a bug this small or thin, nor one that could break through our counter-surveillance tech. That this bug did both is... worrying."
"Are you sure it was broadcasting successfully?"
"As sure as we can be, with tech like this. We hit it with an ECT scanner, best on the market, and it was still barely able to pick up the signal."
Lelouch furrowed his brow. If their adversary had technology like this at their disposal, then these weren't snooping rivals or even regular spies. These were high-end espionage types. Black-ops types. He wracked his brain, trying to think of every loose thread he and his organization still had hanging. Then it hit him.
"Reuben," he asked slowly, "those auditors you've been giving the run-around for the last month, were any of them ever in your office?"
As casually as he could under the circumstances, Frank packed up his auditing kit in preparation to flee like a bat out of hell. He and three others had been assigned as the 'night crew' for the Ashford investigation. They'd been looking for more discrepancies all night, but he'd just received the coded phone message telling to evacuate as quickly and covertly as possible and make for the emergency rendezvous.
He'd just finished shoving his notes into the briefcase when the door to the conference room opened and his blood went cold.
Slowly, he turned and was faced with four machine pistols aimed to gun down anyone who so much as twitched.
"Going somewhere?" asked a Britannian with purple eyes.
Within minutes he and his coworkers were securely ziptied to the uncomfortable office chairs they'd been provided, and he was beginning to sorely regret his life choices. 'Corporate work pays better, but government sector has more perks' he'd been told. Perks like getting tied to a chair and probably tortured because you audited the wrong guy.
"Look," said the Britannian boy, his voice weary, "I'm just going to do something that will save me time and you pain. Yᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏʏᴀʟᴛʏ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ."
The words washed over Frank like a soothing breeze. Suddenly, he knew that this boy's cause was greater than anything he could ever pursue, ever amount to. His life, his loyalties, his goals were like the characteristics of an ant before a god.
"Of course."
"Christ!" screamed his coworker, Ted. "What the fuck is that!"
But Frank ignored him. "Identify yourself, and explain why you're here," instructed his Master.
"Frank Anthony. I work for the Britannian Office of Secret Intelligence, the Emperor's personal secret intelligence service. My boss, the Emperor's spymaster Robert Vanderbilt, was sent here to keep an eye on the Area—and part of the assignment was to look into the Ashford Consortium. Vanderbilt became particularly suspicious when a bug he routinely placed in Ashford's office recorded a secret phone call in which he referred to working a covert project with a royal."
"I see..." said his Master, his eyes closed in concentration as he processed the facts. "Where are Vanderbilt and his men now? And where are they based?"
He thought about it for a second. "I don't know. They were originally based in the Tokyo Royale's penthouse, but the message I just received called for an evacuation and movement to the emergency rendezvous. I'm unsure as to whether Vanderbilt himself will personally be there, but someone who knows his location certainly will."
Hubert had scrubbed himself for twenty minutes in the shower of the backup motel room, and he still reeked of shit. He recalled reading a book once about a character who escaped prison by crawling through a three-hundred yard sewer pipe. Evidently, that prison was nowhere near the size of Ashford's underground system.
He just wanted this whole mess to be over, but he and Winston still had to wait for the financial team to get their scrawny asses down here so that they could link up and make for the ERD.
"I swear to god, Winston, if those fucking eggheads aren't here in ten minutes, I'm leaving them."
His partner ashed his cigarette in the sink, glaring at the disabled smoke detector. "I haven't worked with them before. They do know the evasion protocols so that they're not followed, right?"
"Fortunately, yeah. Everyone Vanderbilt uses had to go through at least Basic. So they got evasion, counter-surveillance, interrogation resistance, the whole nine yards."
"Well that's a fucking relief," muttered Winston, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
Both men jumped when there was a knock on the door. Winston produced an automatic pistol from his kit and took up a covering position while Hubert moved for the door. He pressed his silenced handgun to the cheap motel door and peered through the keyhole.
"Thank Christ," he swore, unlatching the door and pulling the four analysts inside. "About fucking time you lot got here. Were there complications?"
"No. We just had to take a few side streets because Ted here thought that we might have been followed, but it just turned out to be a taxi working a route. We're clean."
"Good," said Hubert, nodding his head. "Good. How's it look out there?"
"Quiet. It's barely dawn. Streets are pretty much empty, and this motel's deserted. Why does this room smell like shit?"
Both he and Winston put their pistols away and started packing up their kit. "Because some of us can't work in a goddamn office all day. You've all got your paperwork, notes, and anything that could possibly be linked back to you? Because once Ashford traces that alarm we tripped back to us, he's going to come down on us like the wrath of God. Anything that can lead him back to us, will."
"Of course," said the analyst, setting his briefcase on the bed and flipping it open. He rummage inside for a brief second, before exclaiming. "Here it is."
He looked up to see what the man was holding, when his face went white. He'd never used them himself, but he recognized a tear-gas grenade when he saw one. Especially one missing its pin.
The room immediately clouded with noxious, horrifying gas. It hit him in the face like a solid punch, clawing its way down his throat and setting his eyes ablaze. He coughed uncontrollably, stumbling for the exit. Unable to see, he tripped over the bed, bounced off the springy mattress, and collapsed to the floor.
His leg screamed in agony as someone, likely Hubert by the position, accidentally stepped on it in their blind quest for escape from the gas.
Time seemed to stop working. He lost all perception of it. Large, rough hands grabbed him and he tried to struggle against it, but he was too busy trying to remember how breathing worked.
Next he knew, he was laying choking on the pavement outside, his hands were ziptied behind his back, and his vision was filled with mucus and people in gas masks.
One of the figures removed his mask, and his world turned red and purple.
He was being a tad paranoid, Robert knew, but on the other hand, it was only paranoia if nobody was out to get you. In his line of work, some was always out to get you.
Pulling up an entire investigation and relocating may have seemed an overreaction to a single alarm trip during an infiltration, but in his career he'd seen far too many operations go south thanks to a lack of due diligence.
This dockside warehouse may not have been as luxurious as the Royale, but it was secure and the only people aware of its location were loyal to him and trained in anti-interrogation methods. It was as safe as he could be, and he could still conduct the investigation into Ashford and Zero from here.
He acknowledged that he'd not dug up much on Zero, but it was practically impossible given the circumstances. DIS agents were surveying the ghettos 24/7, and they'd come up with nothing. He'd read the reports. When dealing with an ethnic group of which you possessed no agents, it was not feasible to do more than distant surveillance, and the DIS had that covered. With guerrilla terrorists like Zero, one could only be reactive.
It was on the Ashford side that he was much more curious. Machine gun turrets in his sewers? It was clear that there was something down there he was willing to kill for. Now that he knew, there were a few options still open to investigate further—bribery, blackmail, espionage. He'd crack the man's secrets.
At least now that Carine was dead, one of his targets had been taken off the list. He hadn't even needed to kill her himself.
Charles was going to give him an earful once he got back to the Mainland though. It didn't matter that those mines blowing up had not been his fault—the man would just want someone to scream at.
And the search for his Master was still proving fruitless. The JLF were still in the dark, and no amount of scouring would track them down when the Area was in such a dire state.
He might actually have to evacuate the Area completely. He had a sense for when a government was about to collapse, and the current Occupation was right on the verge.
"Sir," reported one of his agents, pulling him from his thoughts, "the infiltration and analyst teams have finally arrived. Shall I let them in?"
"Of course," he replied, waving his hand dismissively. Two of his men slid open the large door at the end of the warehouse and a dilapidated white van rolled in. It pulled up to the center of the warehouse. Several of his men approached the vehicle to tell it to back up.
Suddenly, both windows in the front of the vehicle were rolled down and several cylinders were thrown out each side. "Flashbangs!" one of his men yelled an instant before they activated.
He hadn't acted fast enough to look away or cover his ears. It felt like he'd just gone three rounds with Hercules. His ears rang, his vision was useless. He stumbled backwards out of his chair, his head slamming into the concrete floor and further aggravating his aching skull. It was terrifying, being completely senseless. He had no idea what was going on around him.
A pair of gruff hands wrenched him towards his feet, and he instinctively lashed out. What he hit felt like flesh, but it was still like punching a brick wall.
His attacker ignored the blow, slamming him over his desk and forcing his hands behind his back. All he could hear was the constant ringing, but he could feel cold metal handcuffs click shut around his wrists.
Hands like catcher's mitts pressed themselves down onto his back, keeping him pinned to his desk. He thrashed like a hooked fish, but it was no use.
There was a panic button under his desk that would alert the rest of the OSI to this intrusion, but since he still couldn't see he didn't know where it was in relation to him. Desperate, he started swinging his free legs in what he thought was underneath the desk, but all he got was banged shins.
Finally, his vision faded back in and he got an eyeful of his warehouse. All twenty-three of the men he'd had with him were pressed to the floor in various stages of unconsciousness and pacification. Some had tranquilizer darts sticking from their bodies, others bruises from clubbing. All had handcuffs securing them, courtesy of the dozen unknowns in black uniforms and white masks now occupying the warehouse.
Worse, two of his own men were holding rifles on several of their coworkers. That was impossible. His agents were some of the most vetted men in Britannia. The idea of them turning traitor was all but inconceivable.
The brute holding him down removed a single hand and he heard a gruff voice report over presumably an earpiece, "Warehouse secured, Your Highness."
Well at least he was finally going to meet the prince in charge. Perhaps he'd be able to leverage his position in the OSI. No royal could risk angering the Emperor, after all.
But the figure who entered, flanked by more masked figures, was not a Britannian prince. He knew every single one of them by sight, and this one was not among them. Some sort of EU royalty then? The heir to one of their remaining monarchies? What the hell was Ashford doing dealing with him then?
"Robert Vanderbilt, I presume?" the prince inquired in a cultured, urbane voice. He spoke Britannian with no accent. Odd.
Wait... he'd seen that face before, those eyes. He knew them from somewhere...
They were the Emperor's eyes. And there was famously only a single royal child who shared the Emperor's eyes. One who had gone missing without a trace nine years ago...
"Lelouch vi Britannia," he growled. His Master had despised the entire vi Britannia line, and had always been inordinately displeased that they'd disappeared before he got the chance to permanently and personally dispose of them.
He touched a hand to his chest. "You know of me, I'm flattered. But let us skip the pleasantries, shall we?"
The boy's eyes glowed with a crimson sigil that Vanderbilt only knew all too well. And suddenly it all clicked, and he knew that he'd lost.
"Yᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʟᴏʏᴀʟᴛʏ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ."
Jeremiah drove him and Sayoko back to his Ashford manor, where he climbed back into bed. Kallen was amusingly still asleep, but the second he crawled in she instinctively cuddled into his side. It was quite adorable. Sayoko stripped and flanked him from the other side.
How he'd ever gone to sleep without the warmth of a woman or two in his bed, he'd never know.
He reflected on how close he and Fulcrum had been to discovery. Had Vanderbilt and his men gone unnoticed, all of his plans could have been undone.
At least he'd managed to profit from tonight's little escapade. Robert Vanderbilt would continue acting as Emperor Charles' faithful spymaster, but secretly his loyalty would always belong to Lelouch vi Britannia.
Another obstacle had been cleared from his path to world domination.
He chuckled, despite himself. Whenever he said that in his head, he sounded like a supervillain. But then, he supposed that no hero ever had plans to conquer the world. Heroes generally never had plans at all.
Evil had its perks.
Security would be tightened in response to the near-catastrophe. Fulcrum's financial team would be giving Ashford's books a thorough cleaning, and the man himself would be assigned a personal Shadow to provide constant counter-intelligence services in the future. That avenue at least would be closed off from any future inquisitive parties or agencies.
Nunnally and Milly had been brought back up from underground and assured that the threat had passed. He didn't like worrying Nunnally or involving her in his work, but he also couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to her as a result of it.
For her better world, he would push forward and persevere. For his vengeance, he would push forward and persevere.
VJ-Day was on the horizon. Five days to clear the path for the Smilas' navy. To clear Cornelia and Euphemia from the board. To take the MvB Naval Base out of action. To assault the Tokyo Settlement and the Citadel.
To think that six years of planning would come down to a five-day stretch, where he would achieve either total victory or total defeat. Only time would tell.
The clock was ticking, but for now he needed sleep.
Cornelia inspected the reports from her office in the Avalon with a great deal of frustration. By her brother Schneizel's evaluation, the European Union had a massive naval force inbound to take the Area within five days.
Now, this exact circumstance was why three quarters of the Pacific Fleet were stationed in Area 11, but she now faced a conundrum. The base was the softest target in the Area. Without those ships acting as additional security, it would be almost pathetically easy for Zero to take, regardless of its existing garrison. And if the base was taken, the fleet would have no fuel, leaving them sitting ducks for the EU navy.
But by keeping them in port, she left them at risk for direct attack by Zero, which would make protecting the base a moot point.
If the military section of the Tokyo harbor weren't currently still ablaze she could reposition them there, but it seems that Zero had preempted that move. Never in her life had she been put in such a dire situation.
But she couldn't just accept defeat. Her only move available was to be aggressive—to take an action that would force Zero into the open, then crush him.
Terrorists like him lived and died on public perception. If she launched an attack on one of the Eleven ghettos, he would be forced to either respond or lose face with the people he claimed to represent. She knew of his threat of assassination on the nobility, but in the face of losing the Area completely, that was an acceptable loss.
Acquiring the forces would be tricky, as the Gloucesters she'd brought had been destroyed by those abominable quadruped Knightmares Zero was fielding. She might just have to fly the Avalon over a ghetto and start firing until Zero showed his face.
Euphy wouldn't like it, but she had long grown accustom to performing actions that her beloved little sister wouldn't like in the name of keeping her safe. Unfortunately, she couldn't leave her in the Vicereine's Citadel. She didn't trust any of Carine's Purist soldiers. They reeked of incompetence and disloyalty. The only one with a modicum of competency had been the Countess-General Nu, but even she was a devout Purist and therefore untrustworthy.
Her course decided, she pulled up a map of the Area and started planning. The first order of business was Carine's State Funeral, but that would only keep her occupied for a day.
The clock was ticking, but for now she needed to plan.