Recap: Suzaku and co's plan to extract the poison gas goes awry. Alex and co have their eyes set on the student council to discover the new Black King, by any means necessary.
Chapter 28: Shinjuku
While years ago, I remember that Wednesday, August 2nd, 2017 well, for it was both filled with jubilation and slow dawning horror. For months, I had been Britannia's plaything, a pretty creature trapped within a gilded chain, forever aware of the chains placed on me. Charles zi Britannia is a difficult man to describe, especially to those who never knew his reign. It's hard to imagine a being full of such domineering power, where you feared to even breathe wrong in his presence. But Emperor Charles was that and more, and I was caught in his web as he reminded me every time I was summoned. Those discussions served no purpose; in hindsight, I must have amused him. On August 2nd though, I slipped the first of my chains.
My former fiancé, Yoan, had arrived. He was a crude man, and at any other time, I would have been horrified, yet he carried a message from, then Secretary of Defense, General Smilas. The EU had many spies, but none of them were highly placed with my meager level of access. The closest they had were informants, nobles content to commit small acts of treason to disadvantage their opponents. Unable to leave, if possibly ever, my orders were to integrate myself further and encourage Prince Clovis's attention, which enraged Yoan. I felt disgusted by the idea myself. Clovis was a revolting man, even if I knew nothing of his atrocities at the time. Later, when I heard of his death by Zero's hands, I was relieved.
Still, heartened by news from home, I attended the afternoon festivities with Yoan. Clovis flirted shamelessly, three women hanging off his arm at any moment. Despite my orders, I couldn't stomach the idea of adopting a saccharine attitude myself. Instead, I entertained him with art history, implying his previous transgression would be forgotten, but always kept someone of noteworthy rank besides us. In the midst of a heated discussion over Picasso (how an art lover such as he claimed to be could deny his brilliance befuddles me to this day), General Bartley approached, pulling him aside. An hour later, we learned of military action occurring in the Shinjuku Ghettos.
None of them were shocked or even bothered at the concept. They shrugged it off, while a rare few expressed concern over lost labor. The world of nobles lived in a separate realm. They were parasites, contributing nothing of value. As people died and smoke blotted the sky, they laughed and gambled over potential casualties. Even Yoan was shocked by such blatant disregard. I will never say EU politicians were particularly caring, but they were never as brazen to voice such thoughts aloud where the media could hear. Perhaps, I could have shrugged it off as typical Britannian cruelty, were it not for then Miss Sumeragi laughing along with them. I do earnestly believe that she was a JLF collaborator in the beginning, but I also believe she was playing both sides of the field, and as Britannia grew ever stronger, she embraced the life of comfort and pleasure they offered her.
In that moment I knew that were I to stay, I would succumb to the same temptation. It was only a matter of time.
—Then and Now, Reflections by Leila Breisgau
Shinjuku, Area Eleven
Suzaku sprang out of the truck—the tarp fluttered to the side and smothering a pursuing knightmare—and immediately shot a slash harken at the firing gunship, sending it crashing into its neighbor in a plume of fire. A moment later, a drop ship deposited a knightmare before him. Behind them, on the long highway, more knightmares fell from the sky.
He checked the diagram pinned on the left side of his cockpit; Ban had conveniently marked the weak spots for the Sutherlanders. A pursuing helicopter dipped slightly too low; he fired his slash harken.
The slow airships carrying reinforcements had no time to dodge. A bright flash of pink followed and filtered through his narrow windows, casting his controls in blood. A blink, and it was gone.
The truck carrying the gas was nowhere to be seen, successfully having gone underground as according to either plan E or G. His moment of distraction nearly cost him as bullets fractured the street beneath him; he jumped to the side.
A slash harken tore through his shoulder; he jerked backwards, righting himself at the last possible moment. Being knocked on his back would decisively end the battle, and with Britannians closing in on all sides, he doubted they would let his ejected cockpit harmlessly fly away.
Another knightmare dropped into the fight, not even waiting to land before jumping into combat. He swerved to the side to avoid the predictable fire and tried to draw its attention away from the vulnerable offices which were now packed to the brim with people.
He merely needed to buy time, then escape by taking one of the numerous entrances to the dilapidated Shinjuku Station which Brits struggled to navigate. Even Suzaku, despite having lived here for years, couldn't say he knew his way around.
Suzaku narrowly avoided another strike.
"Eleven, you face Jeremiah Gottwald. Tremble with fear!"
For that agrifying remark, Suzaku slammed into the closest knightmare and tore the rifle from its grasp. Giant robots; feeble human bodies. They reacted close enough. He jumped into the air to avoid the fresh bullets, returned fire, and swerved behind a building for cover.
An eerie rumble, muffled by the cockpit, made him tilt his head in confusion. What could be so loud?
Cursing, he threw himself backwards as a knightmare burst through the wall into the spot where he stood.
How?
Their factspheres were more advanced than his own. Damn it.
"You can't hide!"
Suzaku groaned and observed the three approaching knightmares, wondering which belonged to that obnoxious, mocking voice. Maybe he could get rid of that one first...
The knightmare on the left turned in the other direction. The subway!
Suzaku shot forward, ramming into its lower body and twisting so it toppled over his shoulder. Red alarms blared inside the cockpit, telling him his right arm was damaged. Perhaps there was a reason that knightmares didn't brawl.
The knightmare in the middle rolled forward. It avoided his strike with ease and countered with a vicious strike to his left side which sent more indicator lights red. Suzaku spun around and leapt onto the train tracks on the right. He needed space. The thin alleyways between buildings let the more maneuverable and sturdier Sutherlands have the advantage.
"Lima, this is Alpha. Jump in five, four, three, two, now!"
Suzaku jumped, and the high speed train slammed into the unit behind him until it slowed into a stop.
"Lead them East. We're on plan G-M. Out."
Despite not knowing what that meant, Suzaku complied. A grin stretched across his face as the three knightmares attempted to box him in; Ban ordered him to let them draw closer while moving ten meters to the right.
He was reminded of Lelouch, with his tendency of being as exact as possible.
The ground collapsed beneath their feet; only one knightmare managed to jump into the nearby building and grab the crumbling wall to avoid the same fate.
"What is your name?" the pilot asked.
"Gottwald, I presume," Suzaku answered, waiting for additional instructions. If the noble wanted to talk, then he wouldn't be hunting down his accomplices. The knightmare would be seen as the bigger threat which would let the truck hopefully escape and be unloaded safely.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Nagata crashed," Tamaki shouted. "Shit! They've got troops down here."
"Zulu, this Alpha. Shut up. What is your status? Over."
The knightmare darted forward, the radio still crackling. "I will admit, I like your spirit!"
Why were Britannians so battle obsessed!
Suzaku ducked beneath the outstretched arm and did the sensible thing, retreated—even if it very much looked like fleeing.
Another knightmare, this one with a shield, got into his way, and Suzaku tore out the factsphere. The shield was easy to steal after that.
Gottwald screamed obscenities at him over the radio, demanding that he face him with honor.
A billow of smoke erupted a few blocks down. Suzaku bit his lip anxiously.
Swerving to the right, he avoided the recently airdropped knightmares. "Alpha! This is Lima. Where do you need me? I have Gottwald on my tail and can't shake him. Over."
"Lima, this is Alpha. Head to the Keio West gate. Out."
Which was in the exact opposite direction that Suzaku had been heading. Fuck!
He spun around, using the shield to narrow his turn, and with the benefit of surprise, dispatched the second knightmare. He scowled as Gottwald intercepted his strike, boxing him in
"At least do me the honor of knowing who I am fighting. I have not been as entertained in a long time."
"Charles," Suzaku answered.
"You dare insult the compassion of the Emperor?"
"I rather think he has none. He would let his own children die to fuel his own agenda," Suzaku snarled.
Twenty-seconds later, Suzaku realized that Gottwald hadn't been taking him entirely seriously before. Or he ran on rage.
Ejecting his left arm with his shield, he finally slipped past to head to the Keio West gate with Gottwald hot on his tail. He shot recklessly behind him and listened to the loud thundering explosions, wondering what other kind of traps Ban had set up.
Through one of his side windows, a bright splash of red snagged his eye, and he twisted his head in shock at the sight of ground troops opening fire on fleeing figures. Why? Those were civilians? For how long?
The factsphere cast everything into shades of red, not letting him see a single speck of blood.
"Alpha, this is Lima," Suzaku opened. "I spotted infantry engaging with civilians. Over."
"Lima, this is Alpha. Switch to private. Out."
Fingers trembling, Suzaku avoided another shot from Gottwald and changed the frequency on the handheld radio. His factsphere helpfully informed him that he had a small army of knightmares chasing him.
"Lima, this is Alpha. I have multiple confirmations of Britannians opening fire on civilians. I'm beginning evacuations with Beta. Eject when it is safe, but for now, hinder the infantry if possible. Don't let the others know. They will panic. Out."
Spotting a pair of soldiers, with a box between them, exiting a small apartment building, Suzaku opened fire. He didn't want to kill... but Britannia would already condemn them to death for disobeying orders and engaging in looting. He was simply speeding up the timetable.
"Your fight is with me," Gottwald snapped.
Suzaku groaned and fled again, dodging out of their shots and taking out the more amateur pilots when they got too close. His entire body burned with adrenaline.
"Alpha, this is Lima. Arrived. Over."
"Lima, this is Alpha. One minute until detonation. Clear the area as late as possible. Out."
With five seconds to spare, he leapt forward with a slight unbalanced spin kick, finally landing a blow on Gottwald, and escaping the massive explosion. A slash-harken slammed into his leg, pulling back his knightmare, and Suzaku desperately grabbed the building near him, his fingers digging into the concrete.
"Seriously?" Suzaku grumbled as Gottwald pulled himself free from the sinkhole and launched himself at him.
"Cowardly tricks cannot fell Jeremiah Gottwald!" He paused. "Fall back? What idiot ordered that?"
Seizing the moment, Suzaku punched into the fact sphere and finally put the idiot out of commission.
He rolled forward. Breathed in.
Finally, a lull in the fight for him to catch his bearings.
A large weight slammed him into the ground, pinning him such that he wouldn't be able to eject. His heart leapt into his throat, and he fruitlessly pulled on the controller as the metal around him moaned beneath the strain, like a man dying from Refrain withdrawal.
"I am not some academy green-horn who cannot tell up from down, boy. You hamper your clear skill with a complete disregard for the basics. It is… disappointing."
"Well, I beat your comrades despite not even knowing the basics. Knights must be real pathetic, aren't they?"
"Surrender, and I may let you live."
"Do you tell that every Number before you kill them?" Damn it. He couldn't get captured. Not here. Especially when there wasn't a doubt that he was a terrorist.
"You fought well, even for a coward. In a decent machine, perhaps you would even have been a proper challenge instead of an aggravating nuisance."
"I took out multiple knightmares."
"I would hardly call them pilots. We can do this the easy way where you willingly come out, or the hard way where I cut you out. Either way, same results."
"You would disobey orders to cut me out?" Suzaku asked. "They were ordering you to fall back."
Gottwald growled, and the radio cut off.
Suzaku closed his eyes and waited. The knightmare creaked as Gottwald straightened. He grit his teeth as a strike sent every system offline and plunged him into darkness except for the small light filtering through the window. A loud screech set his teeth on edge, and he wondered if Gottwald had left already, if that was the sound of the ground troops beginning the ardorous process of cutting him free.
He probably should seal the cockpit then.
The knightmare shook around him and bounced off the ground. He undid the straps and clambered to the small window, trying to understand. A long metal bar pinned his knightmare to the ground.
"Alpha, this is Lima. I'm... stuck. Over."
"Lima, this is Beta. I have visuals. You ready for round two?" A purple, Britannian Sutherlander grabbed the metal bar and tore him free. "Open the cockpit, kid."
Suzaku clambered out and stared at Brian waving from the Sutherland and shouting, "Clovis gave us reinforcements, isn't that nice of him?"
"Golf, this is Beta. Switch with Lima. You're on evacuation duty. Out."
Another Sutherland rolled to a stop. Suzaku gaped as the woman climbed out and tossed him the keys. He caught them gingerly, staring at them in amazement.
"Lima, this is Bravo. You'll get shot standing around. Clovis ordered the ghetto purged, so we need to keep the military out as long as possible. We're fighting for time now. Out."
Distant screams followed by a smatter of gun shots hurried him along. Perhaps, they had a chance after all, finally armed with adequate weapons.
Tokyo, Area Eleven
Within everyone lurked a monster—the idle whispers in one's ears murmuring scenes of violence, how easy it was to end a life. Alex had seen it on the streets as a fight over meager scraps of food spilled blood over the pavement. The new kids tended to be timid at first, but the need for survival soon brought their own monster out to play. Once knives and broken bottles got involved, it was too late to resolve the situation peacefully.
Most kids on the street died young, long before they could escape through enlistment; their underdeveloped monster simply wasn't enough. They lacked the luck, the muscles, and skills to ward off ever present dangers. By the time they were tall enough to not be laughed out of the recruiter, there were only monsters left—carefully honed creatures of instinct and ruthlessness.
Alex was no different, so he slammed his target—a purple haired boy who had never needed to nurture his monster—into the wall, pressing a knife against throat.
The tranquilizer that his team prepared for him rested unused in his pocket.
The target bargained, then begged, and finally screamed as he realized nothing would work. He was Alex's prey, and he wouldn't escape. Alex let him run regardless, letting him lose all hope as the locals took one look at Alex's knife and pretended not to see.
After the target's third failed attempt, he collapsed to the ground, strings cut and near catatonic. Alex bound his wrist and legs, then dragged him into the truck. His companions watched him, amused and pleased. Finally, they had seen his monster, so different from their own.
Alex let them indulge in marking the target's skin as they set up in a small little house in the outer portions of Tokyo. The target writhed in his bonds, his survival instincts flaring once more.
"You enjoy the planning more," Shawn noted as Alex checked the bugs on the landline placed enticingly down the hall from the target. It wasn't connected to the outside; nothing inside was. "York doesn't. He likes getting close, making them trust them, and taking them apart to watch them tick. I prefer a more intimate route. What's the point of letting them think they can win? You play too many games, and the prey will escape."
"He has already screamed five different tales," Alex said and shook his head to dislodge the painful memories of how he fell into York's web. "Some hope might do him some good."
"He'll talk eventually," Shawn grumbled. "You just have to do it long enough."
Everyone had a monster, but not all were the same. Some monster shared their food for promised loyalty. Some collected people like trinkets and discarded them when someone shinier came around. Some stalked their targets for months which turned into years as they invited their prey in like a spider to a fly.
The fly never saw the web before it was too late. Alex had been so lucky that he had woken in the middle of the night and spotted that woman crooning over another boy who she had bound in literal and legal chains. He escaped through the window that night, but she followed from city to city. Some monsters did not like losing their prey.
Shawn was one of the worst kinds. His monster served no higher purpose of survival or a goal, merely wanton greed. He would take and take until his prey shriveled, blood sucked dry. No violence would ever be enough.
Alex finished his work, turned back to the room, and talked to his target. He discussed idle things. Deliberately winced as Mark shifted too close. The target's eyes fixated on the bait. Alex slipped him the keys to his restraints as he left.
The target didn't even question it. He "escaped" five minutes after, honing in on the phone to make a last desperate call. "Allie, please... Pick up, pick up."
Leaning on the opposite wall, Alex listened and scratched off grime from behind his ears. Of course, she wouldn't pick up; he didn't know that.
"Damn it," he sobbed. His voice dropped to a whisper as the fake ping for the voicemail went off. "Allie? It's Rivalz. I got mugged." Oh dear, the target was rather stupid. "I don't know where I am. Please— I don't know what they want. They keep asking about the Black King. You... The other day, you mentioned something. I just... Who did you piss off? You have to help me. And tell Milly... Tell her I— If I don't make it, tell her she can have my motorcycle. I'm just—"
At the press of a button, Alex played a recording of muffled shouts searching.
"She said to trust you; that you were in charge. Please find me. I think I'm going to die." The wall shook, followed by a soft plump and rattling sobs. "I want my parents to be able to say goodbye."
The target hung up, frantic breaths whistling.
Alex tucked his hands into his pockets and exited the room to stare at him coldly. "Did you really think that you were going to get far?"
A loud scream pierced his ears. The target squabbled incoherently as he dragged himself away.
"Milly Ashford." Alex tasted the name, slow and deliberate with the threat of violence. The target predictably froze. And wasn't that hilarious? The lowly commoner had a crush on the noble heiress who was so far out of his league that she was practically royalty in comparison. "I guess she would know more than you. After all, you're just the little grunt."
The target shook his head but was thankfully quiet beyond the pitiful whimper.
Alex kneeled. Small and unimposing. The perfect bait. "What can you give me then? My friends would love to get their hands on her. Maybe they'll even let you confess before they slit her throat."
Of course, he could do nothing of the sort. Lady Ashford was a noble; they would all be killed before touching a hair on her head. One had to go through proper channels before even approaching with a ten foot pole. The target though didn't know.
"I don't know anything. I'm sorry. You have to believe me. Please."
Alex patted his cheek and stood. "I believe you, but that makes you useless to me. She will be—"
"No!" The target lunged, wrapping his hands around Alex's ankles and falling for the bait.
"Then will you be of use? I can be negotiated with. I only want the Black King's associates. The other girl, Allie? Why don't you ask her, and if she knows, well, you can tell me everything. If you give me a solid lead, then I don't have to go after Milly." Alex leaned down again, offering a hand. "Do we have a deal? I will even give you three weeks to make it fair. You can do that right?"
Shakily, the target extended his hand, and Alex pulled him up. The target nodded.
"And just so you know what awaits both of you if you fail," Alex whispered. He stepped forward and grabbed the target's right arm, his dominant one, and snapped it along the elbow. "A little reminder of your time."
Once the target was dropped off back in the middle of the city where he'd be found—a slightly arduous affair due to traffic restriction—Alex excused himself from Mark's enthusiastic congratulations. He took his time in the bathroom, washed the blood off his hands, and stared at his monster in the mirror.
He had crossed a line today, one of Lelouch's rules. Would he ever be forgiven?
His hands shook; he turned off the faucet. He missed his friends, but none of them, except Lelouch, could ever understand what hid inside him. Roy was too soft and naive; Frederick was the righteous sort; Edgar had been a beacon of good; Pablo would think he could be saved; Art had chosen death over embracing his monster; and Henry... Well, Alex had clearly missed the monster within him.
Lelouch never asked, but his eyes understood; his own monster was so well controlled and so very unusual. Lelouch would do anything to protect those he considered his without demanding anything in return.
Alex remembered Lelouch sitting in the hospital bed, hunched over an uneaten applesauce. How he looked up as Alex rushed in with distrust in his eyes and how that slowly faded, replaced by fondness. How weak and frail he looked in that moment, nothing like the rumors floating around of some great general. How he stumbled out of the bed, suddenly consumed by the urgent need to do work. And how he staggered and grasped onto Alex's arm to steady himself, his flimsy hospital gown riding up his arms and showing skin mottled in purples and red, deep crevices which turned black sunk into the skin around his wrist.
Back then, as Alex pretended not to notice, he had wondered and imagined the Count standing over Lelouch with that crazed smile, and if only Alex had done as Henry—because he surely would've been faster—and then he would slit the Count's throat with her own knife, let her blood mingle with the tea Lelouch so despised.
Had Lelouch screamed and writhed and begged as the target... Rivalz had?
Alex spun around and rushed to the toilet.
Shinjuku, Area Eleven
Suzaku's initial bout of optimism soon faded into passive acceptance as he followed the orders from the radio, chased the infantry away, and sniped any knightmare which broke the encirclement in an attempt to guard the infantry running around like ants.
Movement in the corner of his eye. His fists snapped forward, swatting the soldiers who fired aimlessly at him. Their blood coated his hands red. A woman clutching a bundle of writhing blankets ran past the soaked metallic finger and into the maze of the underground.
"This is Epsilon. Lost contact with B group!"
Suzaku straightened, turning to where they were.
"This is Epsilon. Found B group. They're—" He screamed; the transmission abruptly cut off.
Ban frantically barked orders to regroup as they focused on the new approaching unit. To his left, Brian ejected prematurely. He wasn't a good enough pilot for whatever was coming. Abruptly, Suzaku threw himself to the side, responding to some unknown instinct suddenly screaming from within.
A white knightmare, sleek lines and deadliness combined into one, stood in his former spot. A vibrating purple sword sliced through the knightmare standing beside him.
"This is Lima," Suzaku began nervously. "I've got visuals. One enemy knightmare. White. Looks to be a new unit. Moving in to engage. Out."
"Lima, do not engage! Eject."
The white knightmare hurtled forward, and Suzaku barely dodged the debilitating blow. Had he still been in the old glasgow that would've been the end of him. The knightmare turned, righting itself, and he raised the rifle, opening fire.
Green shields flickered to life, deflecting the bullets. They vanished, and Suzaku dodged, not waiting for his opponent to take the obvious opportunity.
The white knightmare slammed into the building, and a loud thundering crash vibrated through him as debris fell down. The building wobbled precariously; Suzaku grimaced at the sight of a woman spanning the distance between the neighboring building with a ladder. A child crawled ahead of her.
A metallic hand absently batted her to the side, and the knightmare turned to face him directly, patiently waiting.
"Shit. Brit troops at Epsilon-two. Can't evacuate. Locals are holding them off. Is Epsilon-three still open?"
The radio crackled silently.
"Hey, Whiskey! What the fuck is your situation?"
Finally, the white knightmare moved, and Suzaku's eyes widened as a chaos mine flew through the air. In the corner of his eye, people streamed out of the crumbling apartment buildings. They would all die.
He batted the mine high into the sky and ducked into the alleway to shelter from the subsequent onslaught of bullets which tore through the buildings. He only hoped that the people had a chance to seek cover as well.
A fist burst through the wall, slamming into his knightmare's shoulder, and Suzaku flipped backwards. His knightmare teetered as he landed.
"We meet again, pilot," the open channel mocked. It rolled over to the downed Gloucester. "You are a little cockroach, aren't you?"
His opponent sighed and the sword sliced through the concrete wall like butter. The outer portion slid, people falling like silent raindrops and splattering on the ground.
"Your fight is with me!" Suzaku lunged forward, fist glancing off the white knightmare's head.
The other pilot was undoubtedly skilled, and it was incredibly unfair that just when Suzaku closed the technological gap between their units, his opponent upgraded to some cheat knightmare with swords.
He snapped a support beam and swept it through the air like a staff.
Gottwald leapt backwards, laughter ringing over the radio. "I must thank you. I haven't had this much fun in ages. Who trained you?"
"Empress Marianne," Suzaku snapped.
"No matter. We will determine that soon enough. You are talented but that is still..." The knightmare lunged. "Not enough!"
Rolling forward, Suzaku swerved around the building, mumbling apologies beneath his breath as the white menace crashed into the buildings. A vibrant flash of purple skewered his arm, pinning him against the building.
Another Sutherland slammed into his opponent, sending him skittering over the ground, through the alleyway, and releasing Suzaku. He pushed himself off the wall, ready to fight.
"Figured you could use some back-up, Rima," the pilot said, butchering his code name. "Have to admit, you're a half decent pilot. We need you to break the encirclement. So let's finish up with this hotshot."
A slash harken burst through the space beside him, snagging his rescuer. Screeching metal tortured his ears, and his comrade stumbled into the alley as the white knightmare pulled itself forward.
Panicking, Suzaku cut the line, and the white knightmare merely landed before the Sutherlander instead of tearing right through it.
"Duck!" Suzaku screamed, desperately.
The Sutherland staggered backwards, wobbling precariously. The purple sword was pulled free with a shower of orange sparks.
Slowly, the top half of the knightmare slid off. A plume of debris erupted when it hit the ground, but the rest of the knightmare still stood upright, and part of the cockpit remained intact. A tiny figure rose, plastering itself against the back. The hand swept forward, wrapping around the lithe form and carelessly discarded the mangled corpse as the white knightmare turned to face him again.
"Why?" Suzaku asked quietly.
"Surrender," Gottwald demanded. "You are no match for the Lancelot!"
Suzaku took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and furiously wiped his eyes. Hands fumbling, he turned off the open channel and turned on their radio. "This is Lima. The new white knightmare is called Lancelot. Pilot is Gottwald. Do not engage. I repeat, do not engage. It's too strong. I will try to lead it to the Yamanote line so it stops tearing up the apartments. Out."
"This is Alpha. Get the fuck out of there! Eject and break the encirclement!"
The Lancelot shifted, and Suzaku tensed, ready to take action. He needed more space. The narrow alleys perhaps hindered both of them, but unlike Gottwald, Suzaku had no intention of tearing up people's homes. They were already too close to his own home, to Chiba and Ko.
Above, a cockpit lazily flew through the air on bright orange streaks.
A wire shot through the air, and yanked the cockpit down. The Lancelot recalled the slash-harken through the thick plume of smoke.
"Yeah, Alpha? I don't think he's going to let me eject," Suzaku said.
Wincing, he fired his slash harkens into the wall, pulled himself up the slender buildings, and jumped off the crumbling concrete wall to land on the roof. The Lancelot was on him a second later, it's leg falling through the roof, revealing a humble living room. Suzaku wished there was another way, but Gottwald wouldn't just stop at killing Suzaku. He would take out the rest of the resistance as well, which were herding the locals to safety.
Gottwald would follow his orders and kill the civilians. He didn't give a shit about the Numbers anyway. And with the Lancelot, nobody would be able to stop his brutal take down.
A few lives to stall Gottwald and hopefully save more.
Suzaku shot through, aiming at the slight clearing where the train line ran. He could at least hope to minimize the damage. Winning? That was out of the question.
The Lancelot slammed into him, throwing him off the rooftops and back onto stable ground. He staggered out of the crater, eyeing the long cracks nervously. Beneath them was the endless maze which formed the subway system and station.
He took off again, and a slash-harken blocked his path, the Lancelot pulling a chunk of the building back as it rushed to intercept him. Alarms blared through the knightmare as a dash of purple obscured the fact sphere and finally forced the main cameras offline.
"Stop playing with me!" Suzaku shouted. "Just end it, instead of drawing this out. Or is that what you Britannians consider honor?"
"Perhaps you could stop dodging," Gottwald snapped.
"You took down the other guy in less than five seconds," Suzaku spat, dodging another strike which clipped his right arm. The screen finally switched to the auxiliary cameras.
"I assure you that if my intention was to kill you, the fight would be long over by now."
"What?" Suzaku asked. Did they already know who he was? How? He had never said his name. Had someone said something? Had he been betrayed? He couldn't get captured. "Your orders are to kill us."
"Like I said, you have some talent which could be put to far better use."
Suzaku laughed. "You think I would serve Britannia?"
"Given time. I do not needlessly squander potential resources, not when they can serve me better under my command. Britannia awards skilled pilots and their patrons generously. You would be happy."
This had nothing to do with his heritage. Gottwald had no idea who he was. He simply fought too well. If captured, his identity would be inevitably known. But if Gottwald wanted him alive...
Suzaku rushed forward, not bothering with more defensive maneuvers. Gottwald jerked and barely dodged his brazen strike instead of skewering him as he should.
Suzaku had no similar compunctions about killing him.
Plaster and cement tickled his nose. Suzaku coughed within the cockpit as their fight dragged on and tore the surrounding landscape to shreds. Half a dozen warning lights flashed ominously across the console, and their knightmares screeched like the tortured souls which they claimed. Still, they steadily made it out of the heavy residential area and to open ground.
The joystick was slippery in his hands. The Lancelot's shoulder blades sported thousands of spiderweb fissures. He lunged forward to finally crack them open.
His right arm jammed, locked midway through winding up his punch. The Lancelot twisted and he flew through the air, sliding through glass windows and flattening half a dozen houses on the other side. He got up as if going to charge again.
The fight was lost.
He ejected.
As predicted, the slash harken rammed into his side, and in the half second, he braced himself as he was jerked to the side and plummeted to the ground, boosters whining.
With the minor controls he had left, he aimed slightly right, crashing into a towering building and rolling to a stop.
Not waiting for the ringing in his ears to subside, he climbed out of the cockpit and sprinted across the broken glass. The ground vibrated beneath him, and he hurried further inside, more to the center, where Gottwald couldn't so easily find him. If he wanted Suzaku alive, he couldn't collapse the entire building on him.
A woman screamed, and he instinctively ducked, pulling out his gun, only to stop at the sight of twenty or so families huddled together and staring at him, terrified.
"You need to go," Suzaku ordered. "Get out of here before they kill you!"
"Where to, boy?" snapped an older man. "The streets are crawling with soldiers. We'll be shot on sight."
A woman, baby clutched in her arms, burst into terrified sobs. "There's too many of us. We'll never get out of here. They have the entire area surrounded!"
He didn't have time for this. He pushed into the crowd. The side of the building gave way in a thundering roar as metal fingers bathed in grey dust and dark red grime pierced the wall and pulled it free.
The Lancelot stared down at them.
"Where's the pilot?"
The crowd around him parted, ten shaking arms pointing accusing fingers at him.
He veered to the left, ducking beneath their arms, and then leaping over the metallic hand that tried to intercept him. People screamed and begged, shouted accusations at him while begging for mercy. Anything to stop. The building groaned, deep and rumbling.
Suddenly, everything was too quiet.
Hesitantly, he turned around and froze. On the ground, a woman babbled incoherently as she dragged herself forward by her elbows to a bright blue clump. Behind her, she left a long, bright red streak. Blood.
The distant wall was no longer a drab grey, but speckled in various shades of red and flecks of white which jutted out like elegant splinters. Bile rose in his throat as he tried to comprehend, understand what he was seeing.
At the bottom of the wall, beneath the mural which they so generously painted, lumps moaned, groaned, gurgled, and rattled, growing louder and louder, mixing into the high pitched whining, the squeaks of the death machine across from them, the drone of the helicopters overhead. And beneath them all, erratic drums beat to a smattering tune.
He staggered forward.
The knightmare's hand: a mosaic of red, pink, and white. Vermillion paint ran down in rivulets from collections of rags and matted bristles. One peeled off and squelched as it landed on the floor. The scornful watch of the sun brought the red to a glow, shadowed only by the ribbons of skin and stained clothes.
The world snapped back into focus. The carnage overbearing, assaulting, but already fading with the frantic beats of his own heart.
He leapt backwards, through the window, hoping that the people got out in time. Slamming into the ground, rolling forward, distributing the weight. The back of his mind whispered something was wrong with his leg, that he needed to stop, to take a breather, check himself, but he kept running and smashed his shoulder into the door of the neighboring building.
Run. Run. Run.
Guts spilled out on the floor; the man had taken his own life.
He had to run.
Two children clung to each other in an eternal embrace. Their bodies spotted holes on one side; pieces of flesh adorned the wall on the other. They reeked of piss.
Run.
There were people here again, backpacks on their shoulders. Children hidden behind them. Frantic eyes darting around.
Sunlight struck his back, his lungs spasmed. The air was made of debris.
The demon appeared, summoning screams, and Suzaku ran, the panicked crowd forming a senseless stampede around him. Elbows clipped his nose, his cheek, his kidneys.
One foot before another even when the ground was no longer solid but squished. Keep moving forward or die.
They crossed the street, somehow still alive, somehow still surviving as each straggler fell with a high pitched scream and cries for help. Those who had an ounce of compassion, of hesitation, soon joined them afterwards. And the demon was before them again, blocking the road. Each way they turned, each way they ran, it was standing, waiting.
Why weren't they dead yet?
They huddled together, a scared mass of prey, taking comfort in each other's presence.
"Surrender, boy," the demon demanded. Accusing eyes pushed him forward. They were so eager to be rid of him. "Give up and they'll live."
Why were they still alive? He remembered now. The first sacrifice. They gave him up so easily, were almost eager to be rid of him, and they made a mural across the wall of entrails, blood, and bone. His father would've bought such a painting, hung it outside his office to impress the French ambassador with his worldliness. They would have stopped in front of it, made idle conversation over it as if it meant something, while lives were decided by whatever agreement then made within the room.
And when Suzaku inevitably knocked into the building with sticky hands, he'd be dragged in for a tongue lashing and shipped off home where he couldn't be an embarrassment for them all. The painting would remain.
Suzaku always hated that painting.
"Resistance is futile. Hands on your head. Good. Step forward."
There were soldiers at the end of the street, prospective buyers all so eager to buy the next painting once Suzaku was out of the way and could ruin it no longer. He just needed to step aside, let them make a priceless canvas.
"Gottwald is going to kill you all," Suzaku whispered, hands still on his head. The grip on his biceps grew lax. The soldiers ahead in their faceless helmets and black armor kept coming closer, weapons on hand. They were a canvas as well. Less extreme. A shoddy imitation. Specks of bright red dabbled their tops like starlight, turning into tears as it drew lower, forming rivers and lakes and large swirls that finally emptied into the ocean beneath.
Infantry boots were black. Black like Lelouch's which were well cared for yet so worn down.
Theirs' were just a shade off. Dark red. Almost imperceptible, especially in the shadow of the demon.
"Clovis ordered the ghetto purged," Suzaku echoed. Purge. Remove. Eradicate. Get rid of the unwanted, the disposables, the Numbers. "He's going to kill us all."
The crowd was teetering, and the soldiers hung back. Waiting. Waiting for Suzaku to step forward. To capture him to satisfy Gottwald's interests. To kill the rest and complete their mission. They were talking amongst themselves. He could see it in the slight bobbing of their head. How they tilted it or shook their shoulders. A playful swat to the arm.
"We go together, into the subways... and then follow the line." Which way had been blocked off? Had that changed? Suzaku had forgotten the radio in the cockpit. "Or wait and hide. You have a chance."
"They won't let us live."
"No. Gottwald wants me alive. I'm the only thing protecting you. Where's the subway?"
They were moving again. A large throng of people, like sheeps circled by wolves. But they hadn't attacked. Wolves merely following and shouting something on the megaphone. Suzaku couldn't hear anything, head abuzz and a terrible, desperate idea niggling in his mind.
The demon and his flock were waiting for an opportunity. Inevitably it would come. The narrow hallways of the subway would limit them even more. Crowd them in one direction. Allow them to fall to batons and tear gas.
"I need a phone," Suzaku said. "Does anyone have a phone? Please. I need it."
A woman shifted closer to him, pressing a blocky device into his hands. A single reception bar greeted him. Part one done: illegal phone acquired. Part two... a distraction. He needed to split. Lure the demon away. Divide their attention... Make a call.
"Run to the subway, when I say go. Run and don't look back."
"Who do you think you are?"
"Nobody. Just nobody."
The air was getting hard to breathe. So thick and smoky. The window next to him flickered orange, and he watched it anxiously out of the corner of his eyes.
"Are we close?" he asked.
"Yeah. Just one more block."
Good enough. His toes curled inwards, digging into the worn soles of his shoes. The soldiers were getting restless.
"Go!" He sprinted forward, and the crowd rushed away. The soldiers opened fire seconds later, so careful to not aim at him but the innocents behind him. He dropped to the ground; the windows blasted open. A long tendril of flames licked over his body, urging him to get up, to not give up.
He ran. The ground troops sprinted after him, just a smidge slower, but slow enough. The demon though was ahead, steel arms already trying to pin him down and block his escape. He had nowhere to run.
So he dove into the burning building. His hand clutched the phone and his fingers frantically dialed a half remembered number.
A dial tone. Wrong number. He knew it. He knew he knew it.
He couldn't breathe.
Flaming beams crashed around him, narrowly missing him. The embers settled on his skin, and his mouth was parched, moisture sucked dry. There, a gap. He burst out into freedom, into a scorching alleyway. His skin was bright red. Hot to touch. The phone lay dead in his hand.
He kept running, cycling through the power. Hoping, pleading that it would finally work.
It turned on, and he came to a stop in a dead-end and tucked himself against the dumpster as boots thundered by and more people screamed. The world around him was dying. They were all dying, a blight on Britannia finally put to rest like the Brits so desired. He couldn't cry. Not yet. His task wasn't done.
"Please, pick up," he begged. They had only one hope. He slowly counted to ten. It had to work. There was no other option.
Zeroth Division, Area Six
Listening to the various requests from his officers as the sun rose in the distance, Lelouch nodded encouragingly along. He tried to not stare at Pablo leaning against a nearby tree, slightly reserved, but nothing else hinting at the turmoil that Lelouch knew had to be brewing beneath.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. "Excuse me," Lelouch said, darting out of the clearing and glancing at the unknown number. "Who is this?"
"It's me," Suzaku whispered before taking a long whistling breath. He erupted into hacking coughs, mixed with rattling sobs; Suzaku never cried. "It's me, please, Lelouch."
"No names." Lelouch burst into a sprint and slammed the door of his office closed, worst case scenarios flying through his mind. He had been arrested, captured by foreign agents, kidnapped by some pathetic criminal. "What happened?"
Was that someone screaming in the background?
"Clovis is purging the ghettos. They're killing everyone."
"What?" Lelouch collapsed into his chair. Why? Clovis wasn't the kind. There had to be a mistake. "Are you—"
"Fuck," Suzaku cried.
"What's happening? Are you alright?"
"Shit. Sorry." Strange muffled noises drifted over. "Had to avoid a patrol. They're going into each house. You can hear the screams. Please. It's all of Shinjuku. And they blocked it off so nobody can get out. Just..." His voice cracked, then he begged, "Tell me what to do."
A purge... Lelouch couldn't believe it; except, he could. Why would Clovis do such a thing? It didn't make sense. And Nunnally—
"How are you?" he asked.
"I'm hiding but fine. I know this is a lot to ask, sorry, but—"
"Don't apologize," Lelouch barked. "I'll take care of it. Just hang on a little longer. Get out of there, please."
The line disconnected. Lelouch set the phone down on the table, a scream tearing at his throat. His fingers dug into the side of the table as if he could physically drag Suzaku back to safety. Drag his idiot half-brother away and make him see sense. Why?
A purge. This was madness.
His hand shook as he grabbed the phone and, for the first time in his life, called his father.
He didn't even have to wait for a complete ring. "Yes?"
"Father," Lelouch choked out.
"Lelouch. Did something happen? Are you injured?"
The question washed over him, and he took a deep breath, shoving all those complicated feelings down. Every second he took, another life was lost.
"Clovis is purging the Shinjuku ghettos. Please—" What was he doing? His father wouldn't care. It was well within Clovis's authority to order whatever he damned well pleased. He straightened, his voice hard. "You offered me a favor. I ask that you countermand Clovis's orders... and to send me there to provide humanitarian relief."
"Hold on," his father said, not a hint of emotion to be discerned.
Anxiously, Lelouch drummed his fingers along the edge of the table, imagining the people desperately trying to escape as every second another fell to an onslaught of bullets. He didn't have this kind of time; stuck on the other side of the world, he was unable to intervene. Even then, what could he do?
So many people... And Suzaku.
Nunnally—
"It's done, Lelouch," his father said. "You do realize what you are asking by sending in the 712th?"
"The Elevens provide important labor. It was a foolish decision on Clovis' part and also out of character. I would go there to reestablish production and investigate the incident, dealing with whatever the fallout is, whether that means smoking out traitors or dealing with terrorists."
"That is not what I meant. You are fond of Area Eleven and the old regime. Will you be prepared to do what is necessary, even if your enemies are former acquaintances?"
"Yes." His heart screamed. "I will always protect Britannia's citizens."
"By applying an overly broad definition of the word," his father accused, yet the tone was almost teasing. "Clovis was less than forthcoming as to why he decided on an impromptu major military activity." Oh, he was also angry. "You may engage in relief efforts."
Lelouch slumped in relief, nearly missing the next instructions.
"You will conduct an investigation regarding the incident. Clovis claimed terrorists stole medical supplies." The skepticism practically oozed from the words. "If that is true, determine why no one advised him against such foolishness. Otherwise, uncover what he is attempting to hide from me. I am sure that is within your division's capabilities. Tokyo has been experiencing some political turmoil as of late, which this massacre will inevitably fan. You will keep the peace."
"Understood," Lelouch said. Political turmoil. No wonder he was displeased. Area Eleven was too important to risk civil unrest, especially with the Chinese Federation eyeing it hungrily. They would pounce on a moment of weakness. "Nunnally— She wanders there at times. Is she—"
"She is with your mother. Euphemia's phone is at school, so she is alright as well."
"Thank you."
"Tokyo is officially under your jurisdiction. I won't inform Clovis of your involvement. Do you have orders until you arrive?"
"I want Shinjuku quarantined. No one enters or exits; tensions will be running too high. Aid may be given along the perimeter. As for Tokyo... I want the city on lockdown. The JLF will be attempting to engage in their usual humanitarian efforts, and I would rather have them out of the city. Other terrorist cells will also be emboldened to retaliate... Suicide bombings are quite likely. A gag order on the media would be helpful."
His father was silent for a moment. "Very well. I will pass your orders along. Do not wander off on your own again. A plane will be waiting for you… Be careful."
The call ended, and Lelouch stared at the phone blankly. He wanted to call Suzaku back and check he was fine. Gingerly, he stood and walked outside, back to his officers waiting for him after his abrupt departure. He avoided their eyes, catching sight of his ghostly reflection, drained of all color, in the tinted windows. He should reassure them with a smile; it fractured his face, like a scar.
"We're being deployed to Area Eleven."
Worldbuilding Thoughts
- I'm assuming that aces are extremely rare within the world of Code Geass. This is somewhat supported by the Knights of the Round being so young because it implies no one older and more experienced than them are better pilots. As Kallen and Suzaku both tore through the rounds like they were paper, there is still a wide range of talent and skill among aces. The chances of finding a pilot like Suzaku or Kallen is about as likely as being struck by lightning (fun fact: A park ranger, Roy Sullivan, was struck by lightning 7 times and survived). Lelouch just has stupid luck.
- While Britannia doesn't want to see the Numbers and Honorary Britannians, they do employ them. Shinjuku therefore functions more as a packed residential neighborhood than a major commercial hub. Most of the residents therefore don't work where they live.
- On the one hand, knightmares apparently weigh a similar amount as your average bulldozer. On the other hand, Britannian buildings have some next level engineering to be used as knightmare's playground.
Author's Note:
People are dying en masse plus plenty of what we would consider war crimes… but Lelouch is finally going to Japan! So yay?
And so, with a massacre, the canon timeline begins at about 270k words into book 2 and 540k words into the series.
Part of me is slightly embarrassed to have taken so long, while the other part of me is practically salivating at writing the second half. Pacing is a strange beast to master. With so many pieces in the form of characters and subplots, my pacing was always going to be a bit slow, but I hope everyone has still been enjoying themselves. :)
Also, um, yeah. Dark. Suzaku's scene in the next chapter will be as well.
Next chapter will be in two weeks in December. Comments are always appreciated, and I promise there are lighter scenes in the future.
Chat with me on the discord: discord . gg / uSBegVj
Thank you x1tears1X on FFN and dark for your help with betaing.