Chapter 25: Killing with Kindness

"The Grande Armée's successful crossing of the Channel in 1806 sealed Britain's fate, and was followed by carnage not seen since the Mongols rode south and west... Words cannot describe the atrocities and depravity experienced by those who suffered them. Once landed the Emperor Napoleon's armies carried all, and he rewarded his soldiers by permitting them to loot to their heart's content. Emboldened by the lawless behavior of their liberators, revolutionary mobs sprang like weeds across the country and began to attack the landed, the educated, the clergy, the wealthy. A guillotine was erected on every plaza and in every town square. All suspected loyalists—their families, friends, associates and servants—were seized and beheaded. The machines operated through day and night; the smithy made his fortune replacing worn out blades. All kneeled equal before Madame Guillotine—men, women, the infirm, the young—as crowds screamed "Liberty, equality, fraternity" along with the equally popular motto, "Rape, kill, burn"…

Terror and madness took hold of the Isles. The violence became so egregious even Napoleon became appalled, but tried too late to rein in the out of control mobs. None were safe; anyone with a grievance against his neighbor need only point out his victim to the nearest Revolutionary Committee and the deed would be done by morning. The streets of London ran red and flowed into the Thames, turning water to blood like the Biblical plague. Cathedrals and churches and abbeys were razed to the ground, their inhabitants and those who sought sanctuary butchered, but not before the invaluable artworks and texts were carried to Paris. Tombs were unearthed, remains of noble ancestors desecrated. Sleepless nights filled with wails and screams as the Revolutionary Committees made their rounds. Families were pulled from their homes, fathers and sons mutilated, mothers and daughters dragged naked through the streets by their hair. Merciful parents poisoned their children before hanging themselves...

Those who could flee fled before Napoleon's armies, flying for the coast, praying, begging, selling themselves for a place on a ship bound for America. The docks of Liverpool became a human sea of misery and farewells eternal as tearful parents passed their infant children to strangers fortunate enough to secure passage. Everything that floated was pressed into service; fishing boats and pleasure yachts and merchantmen left York, Norfolk, and Charleston empty and returned filled with refugees. Corsairs and French warships preyed upon this trans-Atlantic traffic, hunting for wealthy passengers and discarding the others overboard, their victims washing onto English shores daily by the thousands. The Britannian Navy—in disarray after Trafalgar—suffered heavily escorting their precious cargo to the New World. The violence claimed no less than one out of every eight Englishmen, while roughly the same ratio eventually made the Atlantic voyage…

Now, a generation after the Passage of Tears, accounts of the horrors which took place during Britannia's darkest hour lives on through theatre, print, pamphlets, the pulpit and school instruction. The flames of anti-republican zeal burn brightly in the heart of every individual, which they apply towards innovation, education, commerce, industry and expansion in hopes that one day their children will sail forth to reclaim all they have lost. The nation—from the street vagrant to His Majesty the Duke—has adopted Francophobia as their ethos. Britannia will never forgive and never forget, and though she is weak now, I fear that centuries from now the day of reckoning shall come, and our posterity shall pay for their forefathers' sins when descendants of the great exodus fleet return to exact revenge…"

L'Ancien Régime en Amérique (1838); The Ancient Regime in America, by Alexis de Tocqueville."

Kallen's knuckles were taut white around the steering wheel as she floored the pedal. Running a red light, she sliced through six lanes of busy traffic, leaving gridlock and road rage in her wake. Fortunately, the patrol car they stole was built to withstand this sort of abusive maneuvering during high speed chases. Unfortunately on this night, she and her companions were not giving chase, but being chased.

A low-flying police helicopter locked its searchlight on the fleeing vehicle, its loud speakers coming to life. "Halt! Halt or we will fire on you!"

Tamaki leaned out the window from the backseat and flipped his pursuer the bird. "You'll never take me alive, coppers!"

"Tamaki! Don't…"

Before anyone could stop him the hot blooded freedom fighter opened fire. The helicopter responded to the muzzle flashes by pulling up and away. Tamaki made a whooping fist pump. "That's right! Run, you yellow bastards!"

A second later he was hanging on for dear life, losing his gun and nearly falling out of the car when Kallen swerved just in time to avoid the stream of tracers that chewed up the pavement besides them. Ougi reached back and grabbed his friend by the pants. Tamaki fell into the backseat shaken and sweating. "They're shooting at us!"

"No duh!" Kallen—designated getaway driver because it was discovered long ago that she had a talent for mastering all things on wheels—cut across a curb and knocked down a fire hydrant in the process, the resultant geyser putting precious distance between them and their persistent pursuer.

Ougi checked his watch. "Any time now. C'mon, c'mon…"

All of a sudden the surroundings went black. The only lights left on were vehicle headlights on the street, the helicopter's searchlight, and the image of a fireball rising dramatically into the night sky in the rearview mirror. The explosive charge they planted at the power grid control station had done its work, knocking out electricity and plunging one-tenth of the Tokyo Concession into darkness, including the sector they were currently in. Soon the helicopter aborted its chase due to danger of collision against now invisible skyscrapers, and a cheer went up in the car. "Finally, a job gone according to plan!"

Kallen breathed a sigh of relief as the sound from the helicopter faded into the distance. Another close escape—her second in two weeks. Unlike her last adventure, which ended in the slimy prince lending her his jacket and escorting her out of his room, they had accomplished their mission tonight, sending the Empire an unmistakable reminder that the resistance was still around and still in the fight.

"Take that, Lelouch."

The next morning Lelouch sat down to breakfast with Nunally in the first floor kitchen. Sayoko set the table for three. On occasion members of the student council would join them for meals. At other times Milly came alone, letting herself in with the clubhouse keys she kept in her capacity as President. So while security around the perimeter of Ashford Academy had been fortified to Lelouch's satisfaction, he found himself powerless to prevent these home invasions by the enemy within. As a result he turned increasingly to Sayoko as a source of early warning for when her mistress would visit—like a weather forecast, but reliable. In today's case, the three sets of silverware was his cue, and he sighed like a man in the field who saw rain clouds approach.

Sayoko placed a rack of white and wheat toast on the table and left to retrieve the main course when the phone rang. Lelouch answered. "Hello?"

"Lelouch!"

It was Clovis, sounding quite agitated. Lelouch rubbed the bridge between his brows; it was too early in the morning to be dealing with an agitated Clovis. "For the umpteenth time, nothing is going on between Miss Stadtfeld and…"

"No, no, who cares about that? Have you seen the news?"

He turned on the television and found all the major media outlets reporting on the same story. "I presume you're referring to the blackout last night, explosion, possibly the work of terrorists."

"Not possibly, was."

"I see." The prince nodded at Sayako when she set down an egg white and mushroom omelet in front of him. Apparently electricity was restored to the majority of affected sectors just before morning commute hours, avoiding the worst. "And what does a terrorist attack have to do with me?"

"Well…" He noted the sound of splashing water in the background on the other end, and deduced that Clovis had been in the Jacuzzi when he received the news. "I was hoping you could help us catch the rascals responsible."

"No."

The Governor of Area Eleven made a loud, disappointed noise. "Come now, why not?"

"I'm on vacation, remember?"

"Yes, and Nunally's at school. Surely you're not planning on seeing the sights alone."

"Well no." Lelouch's nose twitched; he was ticked by how quickly—albeit correctly—Clovis assumed that he had few other friends to hang out with. "But don't you have people who specialize in this sort of thing?"

"We do. But it's not just about catching the culprits: the public's perception of our commitment towards keeping the peace is critical if we're to secure lasting loyalty. We've made good progress the past few years, and when the locals hear you've joined the effort to stamp out resistance, they'll have no doubt Britannia is here to stay."

Lelouch tapped his finger against the table; Clovis had a point. His mission—aside from overseeing the ongoing development of Lancelot, which he found to be in good hands—was simply to be in Area Eleven, to distract the EU and influence the Chinese Federation, discouraging the latter from any thoughts of capitalizing on the current conflict. He had time, but Lelouch did not want to busy himself with a task that was not only outside his usual line of work but really was none of his business. "I think…"

"Good morning, Nunally!" The busty blonde marched through the door and immediately had the princess in a hug, eliciting a light squeal when she began rubbing her cheek against hers. "Ah, this tender firmness, this silken smoothness, nothing gets me going quite like the sensation of young girl's skin."

Lelouch covered the handset and glared at the girl draped around Nunally's shoulders. "Milly, kindly stop harassing my sister."

"I'm fine brother, really."

"Feeling left out, are we?" She smiled slyly; she was as much a morning person as he was not. "My dear Lulu, if you want a hug you need but ask. I always bring enough to share."

"I don't want one, and you're not supposed to call me that anymore."

Lelouch stared when Milly curled up one knee and slipped off one of her brown uniform loafers. "One inch heels; starting today I'm officially taller than you again."

Clovis, who had been put on hold, checked back in. "Still there?"

"Yes, just interrupted by a cheater."

"Um, okay? Look, you won't have to do much. Just go with my people when they're out investigating, give them a pointer or two, maybe throw the press some nice, confidence-building quotes. Easy, right?"

"Yes, but…"

"I mean, what else are you going to do? I suppose you could wait at home while Nunally's at school, unless you plan on attending Ashford Academy as well."

Lelouch could hear Clovis snickering. He looked at Milly as she continued to fondle Nunally and shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he were to attend Ashford Academy, deep within her lair, constantly under her thumb...

She'll make me her plaything. "Okay. I'll do it."

"Great! I'll send someone to pick you up at say… Nine? Nine-thirty then. Thanks, I owe you one."

Lelouch hung up. The girls had started breakfast without him and were chatting about the day ahead. Nunally turned towards where he was sitting with a look of excitement. "Brother, Milly is planning an event for the high school and she's going to let me help!"

"That's right. With such a cute addition to the council, the turnout will be record-breaking." The council president stirred her tea and glanced nonchalantly towards the boy sitting next to her. "Of course, we could always use a smart, handsome, kind helping hand…"

Lelouch tucked a napkin around his neck. "I'd love to, but duty calls."

Kallen was sound asleep at home when her cell phone rang. After several rounds of tossing and turning she sat up groggily. Annoyed by having her dream of having a certain prince at her mercy cut short, she wiped the saliva off her chin, kicked off the sheets and grabbed the phone. "What?"

"It's me, Ougi. There's trouble."

"… We have reason to believe that terrorists are hiding here in Shinjuku Ghetto. Anyone who comes forth with information leading to their arrest will be rewarded. Anyone withholding information of their whereabouts is aiding and abetting enemies of the state and will be severely punished."

Lelouch and his subordinates watched the major—a man named Milner—leading Clovis' special unit address hundreds of nervous locals, who had been rounded up from their homes and assembled at what used to be an elementary school's track and field. A large group of smartly uniformed soldiers formed a perimeter, corralling the Elevens in the center. The troops were from the Governor's Commissariat of Internal Affairs, an administrative division which contained the regular elements of Area Eleven's law enforcement—traffic police, firefighting, customs and border guards—but was most notorious for its Secret Police Force, whose mission included suppression of native dissent and counter insurgency.

Clovis granted the Secret Police—which also served as his praetorian guard, providing security for the Governor and other government officials—near-exclusive jurisdiction in the ghettos and outlying areas populated mainly by Elevens. This deliberate lack of oversight had predictable results, and gave "the Spiffies" free rein to conduct mass arrests, physical interrogation, even extrajudicial executions. Lelouch knew little specifics, but by most accounts they were experts at their job and brutally efficient.

The major paced deliberately before the assembled Elevens, holding up an olive box labeled with barcode and numerous serial numbers for all to see. "This is a standard Britannian military ration. It was from a shipment hijacked by terrorists. Now, three days ago, our sources informed us that residents here have been spotted with MREs, the same MREs that were destined for His Majesty's loyal soldiers." The major looked around at the lowered heads. "Can anyone here give me an explanation?"

From two blocks away, members of Ougi's group hid on the second floor of an abandoned building. Kallen's heart sank at the sight of all the people herded onto the field; it had been her idea to share food they captured from the Britannian military with people in the ghettos. "We have to do something."

"Do what? There are ten of us and like, eighty of them."

Ougi looked up from his binoculars with a grave expression. "Tamaki is right, let's wait and see before we do anything."

Kallen nodded reluctantly; she had a feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

After the group of civilians whispered amongst themselves for a few minutes, an elderly gentleman wearing glasses stepped forward, his faded gray fedora clutched between wrinkled hands. "Sir, we don't know how this food got here or who brought them. One morning we got up and found many cases left on the curb. That's all."

"That's all?" The major planted himself in front of the man and looked down with a sneer. "You mean it never struck you as odd that rations just magically appeared on your doorsteps?"

The man swallowed. "We thought it might have been food aid…"

"I see, that explains things."

The officer withdrew his pistol and shot the man. He fell to the ground with a groan, clutching his knee. Terrified screams arose from the group of civilians; women wept, children cried, soldiers chuckled.

"Food aid delivered in the middle of the night to a ghetto full of Elevens? You must take me for a fool."

Villetta and Claudio narrowed their eyes; Lelouch and Marika maintained neutral expressions. Two soldiers hauled the hapless man to his feet. Their commander pressed his pistol to his temple before turning to the crowd. "Let me tell you what I think: I think the terrorists decided to share their spoils with the people who sheltered them. I think no one reported the stolen goods because you're all rebel sympathizers and enemies of the state, and if none of you start talking, this man's blood will be on your hands."

There was a lot of chatter all at once—someone heard several cars come and go late at night, another said she caught a glimpse of masked men hanging about the neighborhood. No one had an answer which satisfied Major Milner, whose expression turned from disdain to disgust. "I'm going to count to ten, if I don't have an answer by ten, he dies. One, two…"

Kallen rose to her feet but was restrained by a hand on her shoulder. She looked down with a silent plea at her leader, but Ougi shook his head.

"Three, four…"

Kallen clutched her machine pistol; she could distract the soldiers by opening fire, but that would almost certainly mean death or capture for herself and her comrades, and that wasn't a call she could make. On the other hand, if she did nothing an innocent man would die, possibly more. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if she allowed that to happen.

"Five, six…"

She bit her lip. Her thumb slid to the safety, flipping the switch from safe to full auto.

"Seven, eight… your Highness!"

A can flew from amidst the group of civilians and struck Lelouch's thigh, leaving a dusty print. Cries of dismay arose when the soldiers cocked and leveled their guns at the crowd. A small detachment shoved into the group after the fleeing assailant, and after a short game of cat and mouse emerged with a young boy who continued to struggle against his captors with his feet and his teeth. "Let me go! Let me go!"

"Little tyke!" The major backhanded the boy across the face. It was a tremendous relief to him that the projectile was a soda can and not a grenade—had the prince been hurt under his watch the Governor would have him skinned. "Hardly need a trial for this one; there's only one sentence for people who attack members of the royal household."

"I've done nothing wrong!" The boy was on the verge of tears but spat back defiantly. "That food was just lying there free for anyone to take. There was juice and candy inside; none of us have even seen candy in weeks."

"A sweet tooth is no excuse for theft." The commander pointed his gun at the assailant's forehead.

"No!" A young woman broke from the crowd before any of the soldiers could stop her and prostrated herself at Lelouch's feet. "Mercy, great prince, mercy! My brother is just a child, he didn't know any better. Please forgive him."

"Oneechan!"

"Get up, you dirty…"

"Don't touch her." The soldiers who rushed forward to grab the girl backed off, exchanging confused looks as the prince studied the girl before him.

"Look at me."

She lifted her face. She was older than him, fairly tall, with mid-length dark blue hair. Her face was a mess with dust and tear streaks, but he could see that beneath the grime she was quite beautiful. "What is your name?"

"Inoue, sir."

"Tell me, Inoue, did you see the people who delivered food to your community?"

"No."

"Would you tell us if you knew where they were?"

"Of course!"

"Why? Don't you hate Britannia?"

"That's…"

"And why shouldn't you? We destroyed your homes, your lives, your country…" Lelouch leaned down until he was face to face with Inoue. Claudio was alarmed by the prince's apparently reckless behavior. He looked towards Villetta, who remained calm because she understood her commander's methods. The prince continued in a quiet voice. "Tell me, where are your parents?"

The young woman's shoulders shook; her nails clawed into the dirt, leaving lines in the gravel. "… It is as you say, your highness, but I promised my mother and father that I would look after my little brother. He's all I have left, and he matters more to me than any wish for revenge."

She wiped at her tears with her sleeve and looked straight into Lelouch's eyes. He saw in her face anger, grief, determination and desperation. The prince was reminded of a boy who after his mother's murder swallowed his anger so he and her sister could survive. He wondered what he might have become had he also lost Nunally—or if Cornelia not pulled him back from the edge of the abyss—and what would become of this young woman if she lost her brother.

Lelouch straightened his back and turned to the nervous major. "The terrorists are not here."

"But Sire!"

"I'm not questioning your methods, Major, but if I were them, I too would deliver stolen supplies to unsuspecting locals in the hopes that Britannian soldiers would come along and antagonize the Eleven population—buying good will and boosting my ranks with willing volunteers at the same time."

The major was flummoxed; he had not considered that possibility, and the thought of playing into the hands of partisans warred against his belief that Elevens deserved no benefit of doubt. "What about the boy? He attacked you, my lord. The law demands he be held accountable for his crime."

He turned to his young attacker, whose bravado had been doused by his sister's tearful plea on his behalf; now he was simply a frightened child. Both Britannians and Elevens watched with bated breath as the Black Prince picked up the offending projectile. Standing before his assailant, he underhanded it and watched the dusty soda can bounce off the boy's leg.

"Eye for an eye; the law has been satisfied. Release him."

The major stared in disbelief as the boy was reunited with his sister. The tension on the field dissipated as the soldiers lowered their weapons. The Elevens began to relax for the first time that morning and talked amongst themselves in hushed tones about the sudden turn of events, stealing awe-filled glances at the prince. Her brother safe in her arms, Inoue looked up at Lelouch with fresh tears on her face. "Thank you."

He nodded in reply, and gave orders to the dismayed commander to have the wounded man treated and radio for a medevac. Twenty minutes later the convoy left the ghettos. The civilians returned home and the resistance fighters exchanged handshakes and backslaps. "We have got to be more careful about giving out stuff in the future."

"Damn murdering spiffies. We'll get them next time."

"That prince wasn't such a bad nut."

"Guess they're not all bloodthirsty killers."

Kallen looked towards the direction in which the convoy departed, her sense of relief mired by the fact that it was Lelouch's intervention—not anything she and her comrades did—that saved the boy's life.

Claudio smiled at his commander, the amazing youth he had heard so many stories about and whom he was slowly getting to know. "That was very generous of you, Sir, the way you handled things."

"Generosity has nothing to do with it." Lelouch looked out at the passing scenery; even through heavily tinted windows the Concession's pristine skyline glittered like diamonds under the spotlight, contrastingly starkly with the sad remains of the metropolis over which it was built.

"Even so, I'm sure the residents of the ghetto are grateful." Marika sat opposite from the two men, "Especially the sister. I'm surprised she didn't try to kiss you."

Lelouch chuckled at Marika's suggestive look. Villetta shook her head. "If his highness had let them shoot that boy, there would be a hundred more terrorists to deal with in the future."

"Which is not to say that cruelty doesn't have its place, but one must employ it tactfully lest the effort backfire." Lelouch crossed his leg and rested his elbow on the center armrest, continuing thoughtfully. "People don't become terrorists for no reason. It happens when their hatred for us outweighs their fear of losing what they have—her brother was all that girl had left, and I didn't want to see her become a terrorist."

"Why not?"

"Because it would be tragic for someone young and beautiful to throw away their future like that."

"Achoo!"

"Bless you!" Shirley looked up from her notes. "You sure you're over your cold? Maybe you should go home, Nina and I have a pretty good handle on things."

"I'm fine." Kallen rubbed her nose. She didn't have a cold; that was merely her excuse for not coming to school that day, but the emergency at Shinjuku meant she had to come up with a plausible explanation to leave the house. School was always the best cover, especially since her parents never checked if their daughter actually attended so long as she kept up her grades, which she did in spades.

"Don't push yourself too hard." Capping her pen, Shirley gathered her notebooks and printouts into her bag. "I'm heading to the pool. If Milly comes back let her know I finished what she asked."

After she left Kallen was left with Nina, who had been busy in front of her computer, the sound of her fingers on the keyboard a constant flurry in an otherwise quiet room.

"What do you have against Prince Lelouch?"

Kallen looked up and was surprised to find Nina giving her an accusatory look. "I don't have anything against him."

"Then why did you throw wine at him at the ball?"

"That was…" She heard from Shirley how Lelouch had rescued them from muggers and how grateful Nina was. "It was my fault; I was not thinking straight. I had too much to drink. I've already apologized and told him how sorry I was."

"Really, and when did this happen?"

The two girls turned and found Lelouch standing in the doorway. Nina's shot to her feet, wondering if he overheard any of their conversation. "Your highness, what brings you here?"

"Lelouch, remember?" The prince smiled gently, causing the poor girl's blush to deepen. "I'm looking for my sister. Do you know where she is?"

"Milly said she was going to introduce her to the student clubs. If you like, I could…"

"I'll show you." Kallen gathered her things. "We also need to talk."

Before Nina could protest, Kallen left with the prince and shut the door behind her.

Lelouch followed her with his hands in his pockets, the sound of school and students in recess echoing around him in the elevated hallway. "If there's a confession at the end of this, I must say I like this much better than your first attempt."

Kallen spun around, her eyes daggers. "Are you stupid, or do you really think that every girl you come across falls madly in love with you?"

"Well, I wouldn't say every girl. Some lose interest as soon as they've gotten me out of my clothes."

Her face reddened at the memory. "That's because they've seen you for what you are, all style and no substance."

"Fair enough. So what is it you wanted to talk about?" She thought she made a good comeback and was caught off guard by his non-reaction. "I heard something about how sorry you are?"

He smiled as Kallen seethed, figurative steam rising from the top of her head as her hairs began to bristle: From the moment she met him, Lelouch Vi Britannia embodied all the reasons why she loathed the Empire. Every interaction they shared confirmed her belief that he was scum—vain, arrogant, ruthless, a man who treated her countrymen like third class citizens. His arrival in Japan had rekindled her revolutionary zeal: His was the face she pictured over her bulls eyes during target practice, the victim in her wish-fulfillment dreams, the object of her hatred. Which is why she found it unsettling that—after what she witnessed that morning—she found it difficult to hate him.

"I'm sorry for what happened at the ball. Even though I was under the influence and even though you were kind of a jerk, I should not have done what I did."

Lelouch nodded. "I apologize as well; I should have been more sensitive. Not everyone agrees with Britannia's colonial policies."

"Especially if one has witnessed the destruction first hand." Kallen saw that the prince was sincere, and the task of mustering hatred towards him became an even greater struggle. "I think I may have misjudged you."

"That makes two of us."

"Yoo-hoo! Hello there, you two."

Kallen saw Milly coming down the hallway with Rivalz behind Nunally in her wheelchair. "Well, there's your sister. If you'll excuse me I'm going to head home."

He followed her with his eyes as she walked away. Milly followed his gaze over his shoulder and grinned. "Watch out, if the two you keep this up people will think you're dating."

"Really?" Nunally looked up. "Are you dating Kallen, brother?"

"No, and don't believe everything Milly says."

"What's she doing at school? I thought she called in sick." Rivalz craned his neck around the two just as said girl disappeared around the corner before patting the prince on the back. "I've got to hand it to you though; I've never seen her get so worked up over a guy before. You must really…"

"Hold on, what did you say?"

"Um, I've never seen Kallen get her knickers in such a twist?"

"No, before that." Lelouch turned towards Rivalz, who was taken aback by the serious expression on his face. "You said she called in sick."

"Yeah, she texted us last night around nine. Nothing unusual; she's got a weak constitution and gets under the weather easily, you might say it's one of her charm points."

"She usually takes a few days off, but I'm glad she's up and about." Milly nudged her childhood friend in the ribs. "Might it be the curative powers of love? She and I have been talking, you know. I think she's interested in you."

"Who isn't?" But rather than feeling flattered, the gears in Lelouch's mind began cranking at full steam: The aftermath of the welcome ball had been a nightmare; at all hours during the day Clovis would call and gloat over his poor choice in companionship. Villetta—politely and with much deference—demanded he let her know next time he wished to sneak away for quality time. An apologetic Claudio slipped him a box of rubbers, and despite his threats Lelouch could not get the young captain to give up who put him up to it. He wanted to forget the entire episode so much he barely gave it any thought since.

But something didn't sit quite right and the doubts he had returned. At the time, he knew nothing of the girl named Kallen Stadtfeld. She was the daughter of an influential Britannian nobleman, which for his purposes was all he needed and cared to know. He quickly realized however that she was an unusual case, with an odd temperament and unconventional sympathies, and still he knew next to nothing about her…

Except that she had called in sick last night, a few hours before the explosion at the power grid. She was at school when she wasn't supposed to be. She apologized and told him she misjudged him weeks after she embarrassed him in public, but he could not recall anything he did to change her impression of him—an arrogant aristocrat who thought that becoming a part of the Empire was the best thing to happen to the Japanese since they discovered rice. There was the matter at Shinjuku ghetto, but there was no way she could know that, unless…

Unless she was there

A few minutes later, Lelouch slipped away from his friends and punched a speed dial button on his phone.

"This is General Lelouch Vi Britannia. I need to speak to the director."

After Kallen left with Lelouch, Nina had the clubroom to herself. She sat at the end of the long meeting table, fingertips resting on the keyboard of her computer. Her mind was filled with envy for the redhead who had just walked out with the prince—how Kallen remained on friendly terms with him despite the travesty she committed was no mystery. She was gorgeous, after all; beautiful people were always forgiven. Nina was sure that if she had poured wine over the prince's head he would never forgive her. Not when she was plain, ugly, dirty…

She browsed through the bookmarks on her laptop's web browser, all filled with the prince's images. She smiled; how lucky she was, to be able to see him in the flesh almost every day when millions had to satisfy themselves with video clips and photos. How lucky she was to be able to talk to him now and then, to hear his gentle voice, her name on his perfect lips.

Her chest warmed from remembering the way he smiled at her. He asked her to call him by name; she was not just anyone, she was special.

"Lelouch…"

"Surveillance, Sir?"

Suzaku stood at attention before Lelouch, who was sitting behind Lloyd's desk. Sensing a chance to flatter the man holding his project's purse strings, Lloyd offered his own office after receiving the prince's call asking for Corporal Kururugi and a secure place to meet, forgetting that his office resembled an overflowing waste basket. Thanks to a heroic effort by Cecil and several unfortunate lab assistants, the head scientist's office was cleaned and tidied up in less than an hour.

Lelouch placed a folder marked with Ashford Academy letterhead on the desk. "Kallen Stadtfeld. I suspect she's associated with the Japanese resistance. Her father is a nobleman, so I want to be sure before I decide what to do next. Follow her during the next few days and report back to me as soon as you spot any suspicious activity."

"What should I look for?"

"Anything unusual for a daughter of an aristocrat; contact with Elevens, for instance."

"I understand." Suzaku flipped through the pages, which included two passport photos and other school records; she seemed to him like a most improbable candidate for a terrorist.

Lelouch studied the young pilot before him. "You understand why I asked you for this mission?"

"Yes sir, I can blend in with the locals and go places where a Britannian might seem out of place."

Lelouch nodded; he liked how the young soldier took a realistic view about his qualities. "That's part of it. I also need someone I can trust: Despite your background and who your father was, you've been selected by Lord Asplund to be part of Britannia's most important secret weapons program. I can only assume that in addition to talent and skill you possess unquestionable loyalty."

Suzaku scratched his chin sheepishly, recalling how he landed in Lancelot's pilot seat. "Well, 'selected' is not the word I'd…"

"Excuse me, Corporal?"

"Nothing, Sir."

"Very well." Lelouch stood up. "It may well be just a mistaken hunch, but I'll not risk it. Do this for me, Corporal Kururugi, and I'll see to it that you're well rewarded."

"Yes Sir."

The prince returned the corporal's salute as he headed for the door. "By the way, how is the Lancelot coming along?"

"Very well, sir. Lord Asplund bade me inform you that he'll be inviting you for more comprehensive demonstrations in the near future once a suitable location has been found."

"Tell the director that depending on how your investigation goes, I have places in mind where he can show me what his KMF can do."

As an Honorary Britannian soldier in Area Eleven's Territorial Army, Suzaku was used to menial tasks where the most important skill was an ability to endure boredom. He found himself put to the test the next few days, trailing Kallen stealthily when she left home for school in the morning and went home in the afternoon. His mission was made easier by the fact that Kallen took public transportation, which allowed him to follow her on foot. Dressed in jeans, sunglasses and an old jacket, he was paid scant attention as he moved through the crowds inside the Concession, only standing out when he approached Ashford Academy or the exclusive neighborhood in which Stadtfeld Mansion was located. It was his good fortune then that the Prince's orders did not entail spying on the girl while she was home or at school, where the likelihood of her meeting with terrorist elements was lowest; getting arrested for stalking a Britannian noble was not on Suzaku's to do list.

He kept a detailed log of Kallen's whereabouts. Between home and school, she spent time with friends at malls and coffee shops and the cinema, everything a normal girl did. This pattern repeated itself for five days. On the sixth day, when Suzaku—tired from lack of sleep and yelled at by Lloyd for nodding off during a test run and causing paint scratches to Lancelot—considered throwing in the towel, something happened to break the monotony.

Early Sunday morning, three hours before when she usually left for school, Kallen slipped out from her front door donning a cap and denim jacket. Gulping down his can of coffee, Suzaku hurried after her, careful to keep a distance on the quiet streets. He noticed that she appeared more alert, checking over her shoulders and stopping now and then as if to listen for followers. He smiled ironically; the lessons he received in silent footing as a boy served him well, though his instructor would no doubt disapprove of the use to which he put them now.

He followed her to the closest monorail stop, several blocks from where she lived. From there they traveled to Grand Central Station, formerly Tokyo Station. The busiest station in Area Eleven in trains and passengers per day, Grand Central was bustling with commuters even at the early hour. He gaped when he overheard her purchase at the platform vendor. "One Hokkaido bento, one Tokyo bento, oolong tea, two boxes of sakura mochi and two boxes of combination daifuku."

"That will be sixty-nine pounds twenty-five pence."

Following her from behind his sunglasses, he watched which train she boarded before getting in line at the vendor, where an old lady greeted him with a sunny grin. "What can I get you, boy?"

"Coffee milk, red bean bread, and a copy of Wall Street Today."

"That'll be Five fifty."

Picking up his purchase, he followed Kallen onto the train bound west, taking a seat seven rows to the back and shielding himself behind the voluminous newspaper.

She alighted two hours later, in the prefectural capital of Yamanashi. Suzaku wondered at her purpose in coming; the mochi implied she was visiting someone, though from the way she polished off the two large bento boxes he couldn't rule out the possibility that those were for dessert. Unlike Tokyo, which received much of the Empire's attention in post-war reconstruction, Yamanashi was neglected due to its low importance as a symbolic and economic center. The upshot of course was that it received relatively little damage during the invasion, and thanks to its rich natural environs Yamanashi attracted Area Eleven's wealthy to purchase orchards and vineyards as convenient retreats from the heavily urban Tokyo Concession.

Suzaku did not follow when Kallen took off on a bus; he began to feel that he was wasting his time. She most likely came to the resort town to stay the weekend at a friend's, as there were no known or suspected terrorists active in the prefecture. Walking wearily to the bus stop, he checked the route map for the bus she just boarded and started when he saw its destination.

"Kofu Penitentiary…"

He got on the phone; he would need additional clearance for the part that came next.

Inside the study on the second floor, Lelouch went over the records of the inmate who Kallen had visited on numerous occasions. When Suzaku phoned him to request assistance in obtaining the cooperation of the prison warden, he thought he found at last the missing link which would confirm his theory that Kallen Stadtfeld was connected to elements of the Japanese resistance. Instead, what the corporal's investigation turned up satisfied his query in an entirely unexpected way.

"Kozuki Miwako, age 37. Former nationality: Japanese. Former occupation: Live in maid at the Stadtfeld residence. Arrested last year for illegal possession of R-ethyl-4- Acetorphine, a Schedule II controlled substance colloquially referred to as Refrain. Sentenced to 15 years imprisonment and rehabilitation…" Lelouch noted how gentle and sad the woman's eyes were from the photos in the profile. He continued reading.

"Known family: Parents, both deceased. Husband, none. Son, Naoto, suspected member and leader of terrorist cell, committed suicide after arrest. Daughter, XXXXXXXXXXXXXX, birth date 3/29/2000…"

Lelouch sneered; suicide in custody was often employed as a euphemism for death resulting from overzealous interrogation, particularly when it came to suspected terrorists. On purpose or by human error, the record failed to strike the birthday of the daughter along with the name, but it didn't require a genius to connect the dots. Putting their profiles side by side, Lelouch could observe the subtle resemblance between Miwako and Kallen in spite of the latter's obvious Caucasian features. It would be a simple matter to have their DNA samples compared in order to confirm parentage, but that was unnecessary, for Lelouch had been making his own inquiries during the past week; retired and current family servants and confidants of Lady Stadtfeld:

He learned of how Lord Stadtfelt, Kallen's father, met Miwako while studying in Kyoto, how the two continued their relationship even after Lord Stadtfeld's family found out, finally ending when he was threatened with disownment unless he married another, forcing him to leave her and their two children. He learned how Miwako accepted the responsibility of raising two children on her own, refusing all his attempts at providing financial support in order to protect him from scandal. After the invasion, when it became impossible for a single Japanese mother to raise two children—one of whom looked like a Britannian—it was arranged for Kallen to become officially recognized as her father's daughter, an arrangement made possible only because Lord Stadtfeld refused to conceive an heir with the woman he was commanded to wed, dooming the family line to extinction unless Kallen was named heir.

The few in the know were split in their opinion on the outcome of the Stadtfeld family drama. Some considered it poetic justice, vengeance visited upon century old prejudices through an heir who carried and would pass on Eleven blood. Others—Lady Stadtfeld among them—considered it a disgrace and travesty, but kept silent for fear of the open ridicule (even censure from the Court) it would invite should the secret be revealed.

Lelouch was among the former: He saw parallels between being a half-blood in Area Eleven and being a commoner in royal court. He took pity on the mother, who found employ as a maid in the Stadtfeld household but on the condition that she cease associating with her daughter. He simmered with rage from hearing about the humiliation and persecution she suffered at the hands of caustic coworkers and a cruel matron who blamed her for her loveless marriage. He could understand how someone who lost as much as she did—left by the man she loved, her son dead and her daughter become a stranger—would turn to Refrain in order to live in the past.

And he could understand why someone like Kozuki Kallen would feel enmity towards him—the same way he once felt towards nobles and Britannian society—even if she wasn't a terrorist.

"My dear Lelouch, to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?"

Lelouch waited until the secretary closed the door to Clovis' office, oval shaped and furnished in the French Empire Style. The theme colors were blue, white and gold, with three large east-facing windows behind the Governor's desk, which was built from the timbers of the Britannian man-of-war, HMS Scipio, part of the exodus fleet which carried the Duke of Britannia and his followers to America after the British Isles were lost to French invasion and uprising. Clovis paid particular attention to this office when he was designing the Governor's Palace, and considered it of his best mid-Neoclassical works, often opening the office to visitors and school tours.

"I need your assistance in a delicate matter." Lelouch reclined comfortably in his seat, hands folded in his lap, "A matter which involves a woman."

"Then you have come to the right person."

Lelouch slid Kozuki Miwako's file across the table to his brother, who leaned forward to receive it, eyes sparkling with anticipation. He followed the change in Clovis' expression closely. "What do you think?"

"Hmmm. A challenge methinks." He studied the file with measured curiosity, knotting and raising his brows intermittently. "Not so much that she's in jail—at least you'll know where to find her—but the fact that she's more than twice your age. Not impossible to court, but a challenge."

Lelouch chuckled. "What I would like is for you to pardon this woman. Her story is long and complicated, but suffice to say that her incarceration—though the correct result under our judicial system—is an injustice and tragedy which you are in the unique position to remedy."

"You are right that it is within my power to pardon an inmate." Clovis turned a page as he glanced towards his younger brother. "But Refrain is a cancer to our society, and both dealing and possession are serious crimes. I need to know why you're appealing on behalf of this junky before I sign off on anything."

"You recall the incident I had with Miss Stadtfeld at my welcome ball?"

"Who could forget? I wish I had my camera with me."

"I'm trying to get back in her good graces. The lady whose file you have before you was her nursemaid, who raised and cared for her since she was a toddler. You can imagine how attached Miss Stadtfeld is to Mrs. Kozuki and how difficult it is for her, a proper young lady, to visit her in a forlorn prison in the countryside."

"I can indeed." Clovis appeared to ponder the matter. "What I can't imagine is your continued affection for Miss Stadtfeld, pretty thing though she is, after her boorish behavior towards you."

"Let's just say I have a weakness for passionate redheads." Lelouch raised his teacup to his lips. "And they have a weakness for me, even if they don't realize it yet."

"By Jove, war did make a man out of you! Congratulations, you've graduated from slinging hot lead to the finer art of doing battle with satin and roses." His laughter subsided. Clovis brought his hands together on the table. "Unfortunately, an outright pardon for your friend will be difficult, as my hands are tied."

This was not the answer he was expecting nor hoping for. "Do tell."

"A pardon has to be made public; there's no getting around that. Tongues will wag if I release a convicted Eleven without good reason. The press will snoop. In the worst case Pendragon will catch word and I shall have to submit a report explaining myself."

Lelouch frowned; things would become troublesome indeed if his Father found out. "So there's nothing we can do."

"Now wait! Have a little faith in big brother for once." He leaned back in his chair, hands linked behind his golden head. "While an outright pardon is out of the question, what I can do is have Mrs. Kozuki transferred from that dungeon to some place more comfortable and closer to home. A private run rehab center perhaps; some are just like resorts these days. She'll be under supervision of course, and the fee…"

"Money is no object."

"I never said it was. Anyways, she'll still be in custody, but she'll enjoy all the creature comforts a patient could ask for. Miss Stadtfeld will be free to visit when she pleases, and when her parole hearing comes up in a few years I'll quietly weigh in on the panel. That way I won't have to confess to the media camping out in front of my palace that everything I did I did for my little brother, defender of the Elevens and damsels in distress."

"I couldn't ask for more." Clearly Major Milner had been complaining to his brother, but Lelouch didn't care. He rose from his seat. "Thanks, Clovis."

"You're welcome. It's not every day I get to do something even the great prince can't handle. Just remember, you're supposed to help me catch the criminals, not set them free."

"Naturally."

Lelouch took his leave, but was stopped by Clovis when he reached the door. "Just one more thing."

He turned around. Clovis tapped his finger against his desk, feather quill in hand. "Is this girl worth all the trouble?"

"I hope so."

"Lelouch Vi Britannia!"

The prince was not surprised when he heard his name being yelled—he had been expecting a visit from the redhead ever since Clovis informed him that his special request had been fulfilled. He turned in his chair so its back was to the door, continuing his phone conversation. "I agree; if there's justice in this world, he'll hang for his crimes…"

The door to his study flew open and he heard a pair of footsteps stomp in over Sayoko's protests. He was spun around in his seat and found himself face to face to Kallen, who was leaning across the desk with a livid expression.

"I'll have to call you back, Darlton. Yes, see you soon."

He calmly replaced the handset on the phone. Sayoko bowed in apology. "I'm very sorry sir. I tried to stop her."

"It's alright. You may go."

The maid bowed again before taking her leave. When they were alone Lelouch directed his attention back to his visitor. "What can I do for you?"

Kallen slammed her hand against the table, juggling the pen set. "You know exactly why I'm here."

"If this is about Kozuki Miwako, there's no need to thank me."

"Thank you? Are you mad?" She was angry and amazed by the prince's audacity. "Who gave you the right?"

"Me." He smiled magnanimously and picked up a nail file. "Mrs. Kozuki's story happened to come to my attention. My sympathy was aroused; as it was within my power to improve her situation, I did."

The way he explained his generosity made her want to punch his teeth out. "So you intervene in people's lives just because you can? I should've expected nothing less from a Britannian prince."

"Why are you angry when nothing but good has come from this?" Lelouch blew on his pinky before going to work on his ring finger. "Or are you upset because I'm not the spawn of Satan you imagined me to be?"

Kallen was speechless; he was stripping away every reason for her to hate him. If the idea wasn't totally absurd, she would have thought for sure that he was doing it just to spite her. She could not deny that she felt immensely indebted to him, but his general behavior—his gloating, his grin, his I'm-a-Britannian-prince-so -bite-me attitude—created a mental block that prevented her from expressing any sign of gratitude.

In fact, she had been thinking of how to thank him on her way to the clubhouse, but in the agonizing process of doing so her emotions underwent a torturous transformation from surprised to confused to awkward to angry, and before she knew it she was kicking down his door and demanding answers for his act of kindness. Now that her anger was beginning to subside, the rashness of her un-thought-out actions began to fully dawn on her, causing a slow burn to creep up from her neck. "I… um… Why did you do it?"

"For you of course." Overlooking the deepened shade of color in her face, Lelouch rose from his seat and walked around the desk, causing Kallen to take a step back. "We have a lot in common, you and I: Born into hostile environments, surrounded by people who despise us, distant fathers, nurturing mothers… I know what it's like to lose the person who matters to you most."

"But your mother was a hero, a strong, admired queen." Kallen's held her arm, her eyes lowering to the carpet. "My mother is a pitiful woman; she sold her dignity to be with the man who betrayed her, then turned to drugs when she couldn't take it anymore."

"My mother is dead." His voice became quiet. "You have yours, and ought to cherish every moment you have with her. You know she does; it's the only reason why she followed you."

He stood looking out the window so that only his profile was visible to her, but even though his body language betrayed nothing, Kallen picked up volumes of unspoken emotion from his words and felt herself grieving on his behalf. She reached out and nearly touched his shoulder but drew back at the last moment, afraid of how he would react, and how touching him—making a connection and understanding this boy who she thought was her sworn enemy—might affect her. "… Thank you."

"You're welcome."

To be Continued.

Author's Notes: Hello everyone. It's been five weeks because I'm working at a firm in Taiwan, plus this turned out much longer than I anticipated. Though hot and humid to the point of being sticky the change in environment has been good for my writing: Different food, scenery, people and pace of life.

Some notes about this chapter: Milner is not an original character, just a name I came up with for the leader of Clovis' elite guards who Lelouch commands to die at the end of episode one. The name "Governor's Commissariat of Internal Affairs" was inspired by NKVD, the Soviet secret police. Several spots of irony: Lelouch asking Clovis why he thinks a terrorist act would have anything to do with him, Lelouch commenting on Suzaku's loyalty, etc. Regarding Inoue: A source said she was an original member of Naoto's group, but since her role in canon was so tiny and inconsequential I decided to use her differently. Also, I imagine the Pound Sterling in the world of CG to be worth equal to or slightly more than the current US dollar. The intro was written last of all because I was out of ideas for what genre/style to use.

The next chapter's title will be "Zero." Thank you all for reading, until next time.