Middle East
Dasht-e Lut Desert, "People's Kingdom of Persia"
"There's the checkpoint." Rivalz righted himself, handcuffs still tight across his wrists, to see that they were approaching a guard station with two young men, almost boys, dressed in dark garb and carrying rifles. There was a barrier across the road, like the kind of barrier he expected to see at a train crossing that consisted of a metal pole that raised and lowered depending on whether or not it was okay for people to pass or not. They stopped at the gate and the driver addressed one of the two armed "guards."
[Lose Yourself (8 Mile / Eminem) - PLAY]
"We're here on behalf of Alexander Daemon," he said, flipping open an id and a badge. "X Division of the Universo Mundo Novo Exercitus." The kid near Rivalz in age leaned in, examined the ID and nodded to his partner, who raised the gate.
"Go on in," the young man said, waving them through.
[Lose Yourself - 0:30]
A few miles later, and over same sand-covered desert and rises of cragged brown rock that they have been driving through for (what Rivalz figured) a couple of hours, they finally came across a large town of that reminded him of the ghettos in Area 11, partially hidden behind one of the small mountains that they were driving past. A white sign on the side of the road had a bunch of black squiggles that looked like: کرمان مدينة and below which was displayed: Kerman City in Britannian script.
[Lose Yourself - 0:53]
The road split into three as they reached the "city's" edge and they took the right road. Now past the small mountain on the side, Rivalz could now see a large grove of what appeared to by Acacia trees that reached from the right side of the road to the mountain's western face. On the left was the "city" proper, with many of the buildings being brick and mortar in addition to stone, wood and a handful of ramshackle shacks. The people he saw were varied in appearance and dress, though all had dark skin and beady eyes, a good deal of men wore some sort of turban or scarf round their heads and the women all had on hoods and mostly formless cloaks. Most of whom were either walking, talking, or browsing market stalls.
[Lose Yourself - 1:16]
Further down the road, they passed an octagonal stone building with a smooth dome atop it; a shrine perhaps. And Rivalz noticed a small number of individuals that seemed to stick out among the mild throng of "city" people. They were more Britannian, or perhaps Europian, in their look and dress. Fairer skinned adolescents in pants and black, short-sleeved dress shirts with some carrying guns and a few with red kerchiefs around their necks.
[Lose Yourself - 1:38]
The driver eventually made another right onto a wide dirt road approaching a large complex that contrasted sharply with the local architecture. For one thing, the walls were all grayish-blue in color. For another, large neon letters shown over sets of windowed doors in alternating red, purple, white, and blue. The letters spelled out: Aeternum Renegade Social Exchange. The jeep was stopped in front of the "Exchange" and the two men pulled Rivalz from the back, dragging him across the sand-covered ground. A set of glass doors opened and a pair individuals stepped out, followed by a third.
[Lose Yourself - 2:00]
The one on the right had coal black hair and light-colored eyes behind a pair of browline spectacles, the lenses of which morphed to dark blue in the light of the sun. He had on dark slacks, a pair of Oxfords, and a white button up shirt which the young man quickly untucked and undid the two buttons at the top. Despite that, it was obvious that he was certainly not comfortable in the desert heat as he ran fingers through his swept back hair.
The other had chestnut brown hair and dark eyes and quickly fixed a blue and white scarf like a habit, raising it to cover his head and mouth before Rivalz could see much more. This young man had black sneakers with white toe-caps and laces, dark gray fatigues and a light-gray shirt with blue markings depicting a straight sword embraced by an olive branch and the words: "eye for an eye" inscribed beneath. This one also had a T-shaped gun strapped to a shoulder, one of his hands already grasping the vertical of the T with a finger on the trigger.
The third, at first glance, was not much different.
[Lose Yourself - 2:34]
Dark brown hair, styled in a manner so that it spiked up in the front, bright green eyes and a narrow face bearing a bored expression. His feet were encased in a pair of black brogues, blue jeans, a belt with a round brass buckle, a black short-sleeved dress shirt and, beneath it, a white t-shirt with a red gothic F emblazoned upon it.
[Lose Yourself - 2:45]
These three approached Rivalz and the pair of his unwanted guardians, the third one taking the lead while uncapping a plastic bottle of water labeled: Dasani and taking a swig.
[Lose Yourself - 3:07 *silence lyrics*]
"Well now," said the third guy, a subtle accent in his voice, "is this it?" Upon closer look, this kid didn't look that much older than Rivalz, maybe even one or two years younger though they were equal in height.
"A gift from Daemon to Mr. Alex Powers, leader of the Facinus," answered one of the captors. The young man took a moment to give them a weird look, then burst out into laughter.
"A gift! Hah! Your boss is losing his touch! If he thinks that I need a reminder as to who is the conqueror and who is the criminal, then he's becoming a fool."
"Ugh... Mr. Daemon is a liberator."
"Is he? What do you think Meier?" The one with the T-shaped gun furrowed his eyebrows and muttered something in an archaic and guttural tongue while the one on the right briefly broke his neutral expression long enough to smirk. "Yeah, my friend fails to see how someone with very similar traits to that of an Austrian painter and a Georgian brat could be a liberator. But I suppose it's all a matter of semantics at the end of the day, yes?"
"Baruk Hashem," said the one with the gun, with a slight nod.
"In any case," the one in the middle continued, "I am not some savage native who needs to be placated with tribute. I am, above all else, a merchant."
"A merchant with a private army of crooks and cutthroats," the captor pointed out.
"You're point being?"
"You are more than just a simple merchant, Mister Powers. Honestly, I personally don't see why Daemon let's you do as you please."
"Rather the devil you know," said the one on the right softly while adverting his eyes.
"Because," answered the one named Powers after another swig of water, "your master, 'mister' Daemon, knows I would be more trouble than it would be worth. I am, after all, a Godfather; and also a thief who is even capable of stealing Thor's hammer."
"You stole Thor's hammer?"
"Of course not, what am I supposed to do with that bloody thing. Óir amadán! I stole back the Dagda Cauldron from Tantalus for the Tuatha De Danann. Suffice to say he more than deserved his place in Tartarus."
"Indeed," said the captor, with a tone that implied disbelief.
"Hold on," Rivalz spoke up before he could stop himself, "are you the head of this...Facinus?" The lad laughed again.
"Quite sharp you are, I think I'm going to like you. Yes, I am Alex Powers, Head of the Powers Facinus." He turned his attention back to Rivalz's captors. "Fine, tell your boss that circumstance remains unchanged. So long as he stays away from my affairs, I will give him a wide berth." He looked to the one on the right. "Can you see to our unwelcome guest Dillinger?"
"Of course," said Dillinger, stepping forward as Rivalz was roughly dropped, or shoved, onto the sand.
[Lose Yourself - 4:14]
The one named Dillinger took Rivalz by the arm and hoisted him up as Daemon's goons turned back to their vehicle. The one with the gun eyed the two men as they got into their jeep and didn't stop until they had driven off. Rivalz found himself being led along by Dillinger, his grip surprisingly strong, toward the building across the sand. In the meantime, Alex Powers chugged what was left of the water, tossed the bottle into a blue rubbish bin by the door, then blew out air before crying out:
"Now I need another frick'n drink! A real one this time!"
[Lose Yourself - END]
Area 11
woodland 10-or-more miles outside of the Shinjuku Ghetto
"What a dump."
Lelouch and the others have all entered another warehouse. This one hidden by trees and vines and other sorts of overgrowth that emphasized the need for repair.
"This used to belong to the Japanese air force before the Britannians invaded," Ohgi explained. "I know it needs some work, but it's the best place I could think of to hide." The student body situated themselves amidst a pile of boxes labeled in Japanese writing. Milly stopped to examine one.
"What does this say?" she asked, pointing at the label. Kallen came over then almost immediately grabbed a nearby crowbar.
"Good eye Ashford," she said, stabbing the crowbar between the planks, "this box should hold Howa Type-39s."
"Uh…what?" Kallen removed the top of the box and then cried out in delight. "Bonzai! Sixth generation select-fire army rifles. Out of date by at least 20 years, but its accuracy should be on par with most Britannian rifles."
"So..." Milly mentally stumbled as Kallen took one of the rifles out of the box, "Howling... type... 30-what?"
"Howa, 'how-wa,' the name of the manufacturer, Type, and 39, the year." Wait, what?
"That's more than two decades."
"Huh?"
"If those guns were made in 1939..." Kallen caught on to Milly's line-of-thought.
"Oh, not the Imperial calendar, the Japanese calendar. It's divided up into eras, based on certain events. The current era is Showa, the first year of Showa started near the end of," Kallen ticked off the fingers on her free hand, "1956 a.t.b. And Showa 39, the year this model of rifle was created, would be 1994 a.t.b."
"Oh, I see," said Milly as Cysgod walked by and glanced over Kallen's shoulder at the rifle.
"Well that's a sad stick of wood and iron," Cysgod muttered.
"What did you say?"
"It looks like a good gun and all but compared to guns from other places that I have been...it's weak."
"And since when were you an expert on guns?"
"Ever since I started carrying one," he explained in a simple tone, taking the revolver out from inside of his coat.
"And that is supposed to be better than a rifle?"
"The range is certainly a matter of debate, but the lower rate of fire makes it more precise, its' caliber has more than enough stopping power, it's easier to clean, AND...it actually looks cool."
"What!?"
"Hey guys, can you get your butts over here for a second?" Tamaki demanded from across the room, "I need some help to bust this door open."
Aeternum Renegade Social Exchange
Kerman, Facinus Territory
Cornelia continued to sit in the corner with her back and head against the wall. She still couldn't believe that she wasn't dead already. She was half-blind, one of her legs couldn't move without pain, and her shoulder and lower back still hurt. In addition, she has been told that Britannia no longer existed and she was now about to be sold to the highest bidder. Why can't she just die right now? According to her captors, just about all of the royal family was annihilated. Area 11 was all that was left. Euphie, she must have escaped somehow, she must have. She would feel a whole lot better if she knew Euphie was still alive.
beep beep beep
Cornelia's attention snapped to the door as it opened and another young man entered, dragging along another by his arm.
"You could at least refrain from being rough!"
"You're not in a position to make requests."
"Didn't you hear your boss? He called me a guest."
"An unwelcome guest; we never asked for a hostage, especially an English schoolboy."
"I'm Britannian."
"Same thing. Here's your cell." The cell door slid open. "Do behave yourself."
"Wait, can you at least take these off?"
"What?"
"These handcuffs; I've had these on ever since those guys grabbed me."
"Use the wall."
"What?"
"The walls are solid concrete, just smack 'em against the wall."
"What good would that-"
"Just get in there!" Dillinger said with a shove, pulling the cell door shut behind the new occupant. "And behave yourself." He turned on his heel and left.
"This is a cell," the adolescent Britannian said aloud, then louder, "how am I supposed to misbehave in a cell?" Too loud.
"Hey there," she spoke up, somewhat weakly, "could you lower your voice a little? It echoes in here." The student jumped and turned round.
He was most definitely a Britannian student, what with the uniform he was wearing. Tall and lanky with dark blue hair and grey eyes bearing a subtle but energetic curiosity.
"Princess...Cornelia?"
"Well, what's left of her," she said glumly. Then she gave a weak, heh, before adopting a wry smile. "Not exactly what you'd expect a royal to look like, right?"
"Uh...well... you're still pretty-er... good-looking I mean. Uh- No, nevermind, I meant-" the young man forced a cough. "Not at all your highness," he answered with an incline of his head, "expectations aside, you still look like a royal of Britannia." Aww.
"You flatter me boy. Please, speak honestly, I know I look terrible." The young man straightened up.
"Well... yeah."
"What is your name boy?"
"Rivalz Cardemonde your highness." She squinted with her good eye, scrutinizing the details of Rivalz uniform.
"Where are you from? Your voice sounds western Britannian, but I don't remember seeing that type of school uniform from the mainland."
"I was born in California, but I moved to Area 11 when I was 13."
"Ah, so the uniform is for?"
"Ashford Academy, I'm a member of the student council."
"Ashford, I see." She had wondered what had become of that family.
"What happened to you, if you don't mind me asking?" He was bound to ask, but the question still stung her pride. She turned her gaze to the wall before answering.
"The invasion force I was commanding was attacked. They were using machines that were far better than our Knightmare Frames. One of the attackers, maybe their leader, challenged me to a duel. He won, the rotten scoundrel!"
"So... he was a good fighter?"
"Yes, I would've been content if that was it. The bastard had a gun hidden in the handle of his sword. He was fighting well-enough without using an underhanded tactic! I lost consciousness after that." She pressed her head against the wall, both of her eyes closed shut. Rivalz noticed that the shoulder of her right sleeve had been cut off and faint scarring was visible, probably where she was shot.
Oh man, he thought, shifting from one foot to the other and shifting his hands around, still handcuffed, she must be taking this pretty hard, especially for a royal. Should I try and cheer her up?
"Well, at least he isn't that good." Cornelia perked up and stared at him.
"What?" Rivalz became momentarily flustered under the gaze of that one indigo eye.
"Well...I mean, you're still alive. So he obviously wasn't that good since he, you know, couldn't kill you...right?" She continued to stare at him, her good eye wide, until she snorted, then burst into laughter. "Uh... your highness?" Rivalz grimaced as the Princess continued to laugh. "Egh, I said something stupid, didn't I? Dang it! Nevermind! Forget what I said. I don't know why I-"
"Oh absolutely not!" she said, managing to subdue her humor. "That's something I really needed to hear. Thank you."
beep beep beep
They both went silent as the corridor door opened. Three guys appeared outside the cell, one of them was Dillinger again.
"Good to know you can behave yourself," said Dillinger as one of the lackeys used a key on the cell door.
"Again, this is a cell," Rivalz pointed out, "how are we supposed to misbehave in a cell?"
"I was referring to... nevermind, come on, the Boss wants to talk to both of you."
"Does that mean you'll finally take these things off?" he asked, holding up his handcuffed wrists. Dillinger's right eye twitched as he glanced at the cuffs, then up to Rivalz's face, then rolled his eyes.
"Come here." He stepped in, grasped Rivalz by the arm, yanked him to the wall, took his cuffed hands and brought them against the concrete with a brisk smack. Rivalz yelped a bit as the metallic bracelets opened up and clattered to the floor. "Daemon's X Division uses cheap cuffs, just smack 'em against any hard surface and they unlock. Now come on," he insisted as Rivalz gaped at the open cuffs on the floor, "you do not want to keep our padrone waiting forever." Rivalz finally looked up and was about to take a step toward the door when he remembered Cornelia's pitiful state. The Princess herself winced as she tried to stand, attempting to slide up the wall while pushing on the floor with her hands.
"Your highness," he said, walking to her side and kneeling, "let me help you up." He heard the princess mutter something under her breath, but held her arm out regardless. He slid his arm under her shoulder and around her midriff. He heard her wince again as his palm pressed maybe a tad too hard against her lower back. "Sorry," he uttered, adjusting the position of his hand and beginning to gently stand up. The Princess' warm body felt heavy upon his shoulder as they both stood, but Rivalz did his best not to stumble. Dillinger looked surprised at this, but didn't say anything as the schoolboy slowly helped the princess out of the cell.
[Check In (Rehab / Lecrae) - PLAY]
They were marched into an elevator. After several moments, the elevator opened and their escorts led them down the hallway to a set of double doors and two more teenage guards. The lax-but-upright kids with shoulder holsters nodded their heads and opened the doors for them to pass through.
[Check In - 0:23]
It was a dark, or it would be, if not for the illuminate neon which covered the near-chaotic party house in an aura of violet. It was obviously a club of some sort, but there seemed to be more adolescents than adults. Lights were pulsating everywhere throughout the dimly lit room. The room itself was big enough to house a dance for all Ashford students times two. There were elevated levels around the edges that were easily accessible by sloping floors and a stage at the front. But there didn't appear to be any instruments, and the music was the strangest that Rivalz and Cornelia have ever heard. They were led to one of the upper levels where, at a table, Alex Powers sat, surveying the scene while taking a bite out of a beef sandwich of sorts.
[Check In - 1:13]
"Ah, thank you for coming. Lady and boy, please take a seat. Thank you Dillinger, I can handle this." Rivalz helped Cornelia to a seat as the guards left.
"So you're the one who mocked me in my cell?" Cornelia sneered at Alex, recognizing the subtle accent she could still not place, "Who the hell do you think you are boy; to keep me captive and mock Britannian royalty?!" After swallowing his mouthful, Alex gave the crippled Princess a smirk.
"I'm Godfather like none other, how could I not mock 'royalty' that is no longer royal?" Cornelia gritted her teeth at this. "I am Alexander Varain Powers and all the brothers and sisters around us are my clienti, my men of honor."
"Men of honor?" she repeated slowly before turning to Rivalz. "You can not seriously beli-"
"Yes, I am serious," said Alex in the manner of answering an unasked question before continuing on. "I started this organization from scratch and I now have a hand in organized vice in so many places that you haven't even heard of them."
"That doesn't make you honorable." Alex cocked an eyebrow at this before frowning while resting his chin on an open palm.
"Perhaps, but that all depends on your definition honor. Such debates are most certainly worthy of philosophers, but I'm no philosopher.
[Check In - END]
Huh, that was shorter then I thought it would be, need to put something else on before people get bored." He leaned a little over the railing and called down something in a language Cornelia recognized as Italian. After which, Alex turned back round, now holding a drink can of some sort that he had pulled out of nowhere. It was blue with a red and blue circle super-imposed on it along with the word: Pepsi. "Want one?"
"No thanks," Rivalz answered in a rushed tone, "I'm below the legal age anyhow." Alex gave him a look of annoyance.
"It isn't alcohol stupid. It's the latest craze, imported straight from the real America."
"But that doesn't even look like it was made in Britannia," Cornelia observed.
"Of course it isn't. It would probably be called: Royal Carbonation if it was. This came from the land, if not the world, of my birth. The United States of America."
"You! You're a Serpent!" Rivalz suddenly blurted out, pointing an accusing finger. Alex burst out laughing.
"Absolutely not, racial socialism is bad for business. Left wing thinking always leads to bad business, especially Nazism."
"What the heck is Nazism?" Rivalz asked aloud. Alex waved the question away.
"Nevermind that, the entertainment is about to be kicked up a notch." He gestured to the stage, where some young Facinus members were setting up something with strange devices.
"Are all your thugs this young?" Cornelia asked. Alex shrugged.
"Most of them are younger, but I make a habit of leaving the dirty work to the older ones. Now hush, this happens to be my favorite."
[Push It to the Limit (Scarface / Paul Engemann) - PLAY]
Music started up again. Lights flared and a cheer rose from the people in the club. On stage, an adolescent male drew himself up and began singing into a microphone.
"Push it to the limit,"
the singer then stuck his arms out and swayed like he was on a tight-rope,
"walk along the razor's edge,"
before leaning over the edge of the stage,
"but don't look down, just keep your head
or you'll be finished!"
He spread his arms out and continued his grandiose gesturing with the next verse.
"Open up the limit,
past the point of no return,
you've reached the top but still you gotta learn how to keep it!
Hit the wheel and double the stakes,
throttle wide open like a bat out of hell,
you crash the gates!"
"Crash the gates!" some of the audience loudly echoed.
"Going forth and back and beyond,
nothing gonna stop you, there's nothing that strong.
So close now you're nearly at the brink,
so, PUSH IT, OOH YEAH!"
Alex smiled as the crowd surged with the song. Leaning back in his chair he propped his feet on the railing while opening the can of "Pepsi" and taking a swig.
"Look, I'm not going to sell either of you to the Serpents, that would just be a stupid investment. But both of you are obviously going to stay here for a long time. Just sit back, relax, have some imported delicacies, and enjoy some rock and roll for crying out loud. Unlike the refined classical crap that you elitists love so much, this music has meaning."
Area 11
Abandoned Base
"So this actually used to be an air force base?" Lelouch asked Ohgi.
"Yes, I don't know all that happened, but it was all but abandoned not long after the introduction of Knightmares."
"I see." The base itself wasn't a complete dump, but it needed a lot of work. The main order of business was finding accommodations for everyone. Cysgod kept telling them that he would just make due with whatever space was left available. The Resistance members wanted to situate themselves so that they would have a good view of the surrounding area in addition to not needing to move very far in case they need to respond quickly. The student council, Lelouch included, not being fully comfortable with their new acquaintances, decided that they would be best in the center of the facility. And CC, for some odd reason, decided to stay with the student council. Right now they were clearing out what appeared to be an old office space, moving the desks and chairs to the wall and stacking them on top of each other.
"Well, this actually looks like home," said Cysgod, looking over the room.
"This isn't even close to home," Nina muttered, dropping onto the floor, looking flustered after helping lift the heavy desks.
"Well, it looks like we have to get used to it," said Milly as she placed Nunnally into a nearby chair.
"Cysgod," Lelouch pondered, "how long have you been fighting this Occulta guy?"
"Just over a year and a half... I think." Cysgod sat on the floor with his back to the wall. "I was able to chase after him only a full year after the monster ruined my life."
"Why a year? Even if you were seriously hurt, it would only take three or four months before you were ready to go again." Cysgod sighed.
"Even a prodigy could be slow."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You still haven't asked the important question," Cysgod said, slower than how he had been speaking, "how does he travel between worlds?" Everyone froze as these words sink in. Lelouch actually had been thinking about that, but now that Cysgod had so-blatantly brought up the issue, he was fairly certain what the answer was.
"Are you saying...that YOU'RE the reason Occulta and Daemon and the UMNE were actually able to travel to our world in the first place?!"
"Not exactly, but maybe."
"What's that supposed to mean?!" Cysgod adjusted his scarf as he answered.
"I was born into a tribe of scientists, of sorts. My research is properly known as the Universal Bridge Theroy. However, you would probably understand the research better by it's nick-name...
...Ley-Line Theroy."