Damnit.

Idiot.

Failure.

Fuck me!

These were the feelings and emotions running through the head of one Alfonso vi Britannia as he ran, his underdeveloped legs bulking and struggling to keep up with the momentum of the rest of his small body.

"Spread out and corner him! He gets away and we're all done in!"

Legs contending with eight other legs, which just so happened to be much more muscular and trained than his toothpicks were while belonging to soldiers who did not look kindly upon his recent acts of cruelty.

The end of the hallway was rapidly approaching. Thinking fast, he dove to the right.

The impact of his fall quickly began to reopen his old wounds, sustained by the hands of the ever-so-despised child thing whose dead body sat over in that corner, eyes thankfully not pointing towards the door he just dove through. No time to think about that now. Getting up, and sustaining a whimper from the particularly torn slash on his upper right arm, he forced himself against the door and locked it, having time enough only to turn one of the metallic locks into the position he desired before-

"Get the keys, you idiots! You ain't gonna break the thing down!"

Hearing the incredibly faint shout through what was supposed to be a soundproof door, the panic set in.

Feeling his time countdown, he cursed his situation again.

Would you believe he got here because of cast iron?

An hour earlier

Needless to say, his first action upon recovering from his… breakdown, was to immediately go back and claim his prize thus far, which he had bought in blood.

Dragging himself down the blood-soaked hallway, averting the sights of the bodies along the way and forcing himself forward, he soon found the room he was looking for. Unlocking it with the keys he had taken from… a guard who would not be needing them… he quickly stepped inside.

The improved quality of the room was noticeable, with the assortment of cracks, stains, and damage overall being diminished compared to his own "luxurious" quarters. Even so, it wasn't the room that he was concerned about; for that he couldn't give less of a damn. It's contents, however…

"Oh thank god."

He sighed in relief. There she was, laying near the center of the room on a makeshift, slightly damaged hospital gurney. Nearby, a simple heart monitor sat on the tiled floor, beeping in a regular rhythm of life.

Her appearance was peaceful; eyes closed and face calm as her body rested, bright pink and frilly nightgown merely serving to amplify her natural cuteness and tranquility. She didn't appear to be awake and, if the IV tube leading into her arm told him anything, it wasn't a natural slumber. But he could tell she was only sleeping; the unnaturally even and ever so slight rising and falling of her chest was enough of an indicator as to that fact.

She was alive.

"Nunnally!"

Walking up to his sleeping sibling, he shook her slightly. Nothing.

"C'mon, wake up! Don't do this right now!"

He sat her up. Still nothing. Opened her eyes and tried to look at them. No signs of consciousness.

Had he been in a better mental state, he might have realized that the IV tube was rather important in that. The sodium thiopental being led into her arm, not to mention being incredibly dangerous to use without a proper medical professional being present (which was a statement severely in doubt with the local… "mad scientist"), was also still being injected, with the constant *drip* of the IV tube feeding 20 mg into her veins every few minutes to maintain sedation.

Being in the mental state that he was, it took him some time to realize this fact. After the fourth attempt at shaking her frail body, in fact. At which point he carefully took the IV tube out of her arm. It sputtered slightly as it was tossed aside, but otherwise relented.

"That should do it."

Turning back to her, he saw no noticeable change. That had to be expected, he reasoned with himself. The drug would still be in her system and, while he didn't know how long it would take, he didn't want to take any chances that he didn't have to. He was already on a very thin rope when it came to chance taking.

But what to do now?

He couldn't wait here, he decided. Any minute now, some other lackey could discover him and, while he could probably explain away the blood on his "cultist" robes again, that wasn't what he was worried about. It was the blood on the bodies of the men in the ha-

"No!"

Ok, don't think about it again. Seeing is believing, and he wasn't seeing it right now. He was fine.

That belief was maintained while he had gently lain Nunnally back onto the gurney, returned to the door, and locked it once again, to prevent her from trying any grand escape of her own while he was still on his own mission. That belief fell apart, however, once he had stepped back into the bloodsoaked hall, shoes squelching in the crimson red of-

Eyes closed. Not seen. Not believed.

It was all he could do for now, he reasoned as he made his way slowly down the corpse-strewn hall. He could reconstruct the shreds of paper that were his morality and consciousness at a later date. When they were safe.

The Present

Returning to the room, hands and back leaned against the far, tiled wall and gripping the dark black grip of the fully loaded pistol with all of his underdeveloped muscle's might, he waited. It was dark, and he couldn't see. As soon as light would begin to flood into the room, he knew he would have to shoot.

Again.

15 Minutes Before

After several trips back and forth in the hallway, he had finally found a big enough chair to allow him to see what he needed to see. He was a tall child, surely, but the emphasis on that statement had to be on the "child", as the tall was only relative to that qualifier.

Peering through the small window on the large, eggshell-colored metallic door that separated the inner hospital ward from the old reception area, he quickly discovered…

"Shit, not more of them!"

He cursed quietly, although the door would likely keep his words from penetrating into the other room anytime soon.

The four soldiers- he could not think of any other word to describe them, as they certainly looked more geared up and ready than a typical guard unit- were camped out near the door, three of their number laughing at a fourth who sat next to a small table of playing cards, head hung low. Probably just lost a game, he thought. Inconsequential at the moment.

Furthering his field of view, he turned his head. Opposite of him, another door nearly identical to the very one he stood by now appeared, slightly rusted out but still recognizable. Any furnishings in the room had long since been removed, it appeared. A few other doors littered the room here and there, but for the life of him he had no idea where they could lead.

The outer door, however, was what he was interested in.

"What the…"

It appeared normal, or at least he would assume so, from the outside of the building. While the original glass was covered up with an obviously rushed spray paint job, it still appeared normal. What was most decidedly not fitting of that description, however, were the 4- no, 6- grenades positioned with care around the doorframe. Without the slightest crack of light through a gap in the paint, he would have been unable to see the slight shine of light on metal that signified the tripwire that sat on the floor and, undoubtedly, around other sections of the frame.

This was… most decidedly not good.

Returning to his thoughts, he went through his options. And decided upon the one that he believed would have the desired outcome. Killing the four humans in the other ro-

Getting rid of the soldiers in his way. That's right. That's all he's doing.

That choice, just so happened to be the one involving cast iron.

He got off of his booster chair (embarrassment present). Raising his gun until it was touching the thin space where door met wall, he tried to aim the best he could. Any wrong move, by a slight fraction of a degree, and this would go wrong. He would have to fire the whole clip, or his chance would be wasted.

He was as ready as he could be.

Opening the door quickly and with the squeaking, stuttery sound a door made when it had long since remained past its natural life cycle, he solidified his aim and, even as the depressed loser of poker at the table had been looking and was trying to raise the alarm to his three colleagues still recovering from the previous mocking laughter, he fired. His aim?

The grenade, located directly above the right shoulder of said depressed soldier.

All twelve bullets had quickly left the chamber, led being sent hurtling towards the cast iron shell of the grenade in question even as soldiers #2-4 began to turn and grab for their own sidearms. Now, the plan would have been for the bullets to hit said grenade, the grenade's explosive internal contents to become active, and for the grenade to explode, with enough time being present for Alfonso to shut the door to prevent rather grievous self-inflicted grenade injuries while... taking care of the soldiers he saw.

The actual result?

Well, reality worked a little differently than even our best laid plans could comprehend. Unless you're a grenade manufacturer. In which case, planning for grenades being shot at was a good idea.

He found out later that a grenade is a complex weapon of war. Once the safety pin is pulled, nothing occurs until the lever is released. Once released, a spring-loaded striker from inside the grenade is activated, striking a percussion cap and setting a small amount of delay material alight. Several seconds following said actions, the delay material is gone, and detonation occurs when the flame meets the TNT. Causing it to go, in scientific words, kablamo.

However, what was failed to be realized is that having a grenade, which would be an explosive in an active war zone, susceptible to bullets would be the idea of an idiot, and would instantaneously see any soldier be demoted and sent to latrine duty on the double.

Behold, an idiot. Or at least someone without enough time to think.

The bullets bounced harmlessly off the serrated cast iron shell of the grenade, resulting in- you guessed it- no explosion. The soldiers, who had momentarily halted reaching for their own armaments, quickly turned to look at the result of the gunshots. And promptly began to laugh.

"Men, capture this fool alive before the big guy gets in here!"

Wordlessly, the remaining three men accepted the order in the form of beginning to run at him, sidearms drawn and safeties off.

And so he ran as well.

The Present

He waited for the light, being all the while surrounded by the cruel comforts of the darkness. He wanted more than anything to try to listen to the guards outside his room, who were doubtlessly still waiting for the retrieval of a set of keys from… somewhere. Since he had long since retreated from the door, he had no idea how long they would be, and dared not check.

He didn't check.

He couldn't check.

They would be here any minute, and he would die, alone and scared in an unknown place surrounded by malice directed at him for a crime he knew nothing about.

Life was unfair.

Life was a bitch.

Why couldn't he get out of here.

Why couldn't he save Nunnally, who was doubtlessly beginning to wake up herself, cold and alone in the dark just as much as he was.

"Wait a second."

Why…

...was the light still gone?

He had been on the ground before he knew it, the pistol aimed weakly towards the door with his body screaming at him to give it a rest, as time just kept marching. But, try as he might to wait for the inevitable, the inevitable was impossibly late.

Was there… hope, of some sort?

"Please, please let it be true."

He clung to that hope. Clung to it with what he had left at the moment. Sure, he didn't truly believe in this hope, in the innermost confines of his heart, as he sneaked quietly towards the barrier between him and his maker. But, given the situation, he was willing to pretend, at least for the moment, that he was safe. That he was okay.

That he was in control again.

The door was opened before he knew it, and what he saw…

…*shudder*...

...were three of the soldiers dead, a bullet embedded in the back of each of their skulls.

That's… not possible.

The scans… they had to be lying. But they couldn't be, could they? The equipment worked fine.

He checked it himself.

But the increased neurological activity in the frontal lobe. Complex neural pathways linking sectors that should be impossible to link. Hell, activation of brain matter that isn't even present, let alone active!

What the hell is this!

It had to be the royal link. The treasure at long last. He had done it, hadn't he! That wich he had sought for so long...

Attempting to confirm the breakthrough, the second set of scans were taken notice of. Specifically, those of the younger of the two brats under his… "guardianship" for the moment. Reaching over, he brought them down from the ledge they had sat upon and placed them next to the groundbreaking scans he had just witnessed. He took a look, with baited breath.

His theory…

Nothing. A perfectly ordinary brain for a child below puberty to possess. No inexplicable connections. No unique traits. Nothing at all that would make the one in possession of such a brain in any way unique.

But it couldn't be. The irregularities made no sense. A child could not have a fully-functioning brain. Hell, they were royals! This was the only thing he hadn't checked, hadn't yet had the need to check. The scans... were lying. They had to be! Someone was trying to mislead him, yes!?

But which scans were faked? And when? Someone had to be a traitor in the group, no other explanation! Logical deduction dictates it! The machine would have to be fully searched: nobody could have tampered with it in a way that his sharp and observant mind would not be able to detect. His genius would tolerate it no other way!

And so, he left the lab to conduct a thorough inspection of the MRI machine. Leaving the aberrational, but completely unmanipulated, scans of Alfonso and Nunally on the desk, depicting a quite impossible scenario for the brain of a prepubescent child.

"...Wut… where… Alfie…?"

Thank goodness, the drugs were weaning off. Alfonso had no clue what he would have done if she were still unconscious and indifferent to the world. Well, she was still three fourths asleep, but she was alive. And okay.

"Nunnally, come on, we need to get out of here!"

He feared the worst when he had seen the… "incident" in the hallway. The events that occurred, and why, he still didn't know, but he thanked whatever God there was that it did. They needed to escape now, before anything else insane happened.

"But… I wanna sleep…"

No!

"Nunna, please, don't go back to sleep right now!"

"Sleepy… time...:"

Her head drooped back down to the side before he could stop her. Dammit! How could he get her out now!

He didn't think; he acted. Panicked, really. How long would he have to get her out? How long until another guard inevitably got between him and his one route of escape? He couldn't take that risk, not this time!

With that in mind, he removed the restraints on the lower half of Nunnally's body, stumbling around his jittering fingers to undo the leather straps. Not much time left, and too much of that was already gone by the time he had concluded his business. Lifting her up was difficult, but he-

Had spoken too soon, evidently, as he violently tumbled towards the floor with Nunnally, still unconscious, towards the floor.

"No!"

He barely managed to halt the collapse, keeping Nunnally hanging by a thread on the gurney that was her prison while landing hard on his own ass. The impact was sharp and stunned him for a second. Why was it so hard? After a quick glance up at Nunna, who was safely if not securely seated up in safety, he felt into the robes that he was wearing. A solid piece of metal met his probing hand, unnaturally thin and long.

A knife.

Why there was a knife half-imbedded into his clothing was a mystery to be solved… another day.

Struggling to his feet, Alfonso looked down to his embittered, weak arms. Carrying was not an option, not here.

Desperately, he searched his mind for solutions. And then, as if stumbling on an oasis in a desert, he found his solution.

Lifting her into an upright position, he turned himself around and bent down. After a slight nudging of her body, Nunnally fell directly into his arms, positioned on his back. He struggled with the weight, balance noticeably tilted forwards, but he managed.

"Yay… piggy ride…"

His younger sister mumbled to herself as he walked out the door. Inwardly, he sighed with relief. She was recovering.

"Come on Nunna, we're gonna get out of here," he said, more for the sake of his own morale than anything else.

Each step he took down the bloodsoaked hall was a torture, both physically and mentally, but his adrenaline would not let him give up now. He couldn't give up now. Each step also brought him closer to his goal.

There it was, the door. It took some time, but he was here. The shining light was easily visible from his point of view, shining past tarnished windows and onto soody flooring.

"...Alfie? What's going on? Where… where are we?"

Being too engrossed in fulfilling his task, he almost missed the little girl's words from behind.

"Nunna, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He set her down gently, placing her onto two unsteady feet with great care. Looking quizzically towards him, and at his clothing, it took little time for a response.

"No, but your clothes are silly. Why? And why are we here?"

He couldn't deal with this confusion, not yet.

"Listen." He took a breath. "I'll tell you later, I promise. But for now, we need to go through that door and leave. Now. Will you come with me?"

Her face of confusion was obvious to the world. However, his tone was imploring, and so were the eyes looking into her own

"Yes, I will."

"Good. Now, follow me. Think of it like an adventure, just like earlier!"

Hand in hand, he began leading her out. All he had to do was get through the large set of metal doors safely. The grenades would make that… difficult… but with everything the day had thrown at him, there had to be some sort of light at the end of the tunnel. Or, rather, light at the end of the hallway.

He was naive.

His observations of the door had just begun when, suddenly, a sharp impact of metal on tile was heard from his left. He had barely begun to turn towards the disruption when-

"You!"

He recognized that voice. But wished like hell he didn't. It was the scientist.

Advancing with the unbalanced and rushed posture of a crazed madman, he was quickly upon them. However, it was not "them" that was hurt, rather…

"Agh!"

Before he could step in, before he could even think to do any such thing, the lunatic had reached out, grabbing a hold of some of Nunnally's loose hairs. and yanked Nunnally towards him, eliciting a cry as he pulled her hair towards him and held her with his left hand. In his right, an automatic pistol.

His eyes were unfocused and crazed. Even more so than before.

"You stains ruined everything! Years of scientific research, theories, justifications, all gone! Nothing makes sense! You aren't even the same as each other!"

The gun was pointed at her head.

"Brother, it hurts! Help!"

This… couldn't be happening. It just couldn't be. He couldn't let it.

"Please, let her go! She has nothing to do with anything!" He was begging at this point; pleading was the only hope left to the him that is alone.

The unfocused gaze of the madman gave him no heed.

"Tell me why?! Why!? I was mocked, eviscerated for everything! 'Newsom must be out of his mind! He can't even understand the Scientific Method.' I withstood everything thrown at me, worked tirelessly for the answer, and yet…!"

He couldn't just watch and do nothing, especially as Nunnally continued pleading for his help, crying all the while from the grip of the newly named "Newsom". But he couldn't do anything, either. Damn his physically useless body!

"What do you want me to do! I'll do it, I swear! Just let Nunnally go!

Something registered.

"It wasn't both of you… it was just you! You, who's brain patterns defy reality and deviate from everything known to man!"

Nunnally, still bawling, was sent hurtling towards the wall to the left, uncaringly and violently. Once contact inevitably occurred, she fell to the ground with a hard impact. But yet she moved no further at the moment, frozen with shock.

And, as Alfonso attempted to make his way towards her, the hand that had become free was now used to put him in a chokehold. Solid, shaking white knuckles gripped his throat, preventing his airway from working properly.

"You can't exist… you mustn't exist! I won't let you ruin everything, not this time! For once, I will be right! I will be validated! I WILL NOT BE GARBAGE!"

The gun dropped to the floor as right hand joined left in the violence. His neck was being severely crushed, and the sheer agonizing pain of the pressure sent shockwaves to his brain. His lungs, the poor, sweet vital organs, were doing what they could, but the lack of oxygen was approaching quickly.

His mind was racing, desperately pleading with itself to find a solution that was nowhere to be found. He looked over to his sister, broken and full of sadness on the ground mere yards away, her purple eyes wet with tears as they watched the events unfolding. "Please! Let go of brother!

It was then that he realized; he wasn't just trying to escape for himself. He already died once, and the thought of dying again, while unsatisfying, was not entirely fearful. But if he died here, died now…

Nunnally wouldn't have a chance. After he was dead, she would be put back in the hell that he had just liberated her from or would follow him into the dark. That could not be allowed to come to pass, not to her. Especially her, who had done nothing to nobody in all!

"Die you little shit!"

Almost without thinking, his flailing hands had become caught on the crimson-stained robes that had still formed unnaturally around his body, coming into contact with a solid, metallic, and sharp object that was familiar.

That's it!

He couldn't think, not now. He could only act, while he had some semblance of control left and his enemy was still in an unfocused frenzy. The oxygen was too low to focus on any specific thoughts beyond this. In light of this, it was rather surprising that, as his hands led the knife in a desperate and unguided arc of destruction, it managed to hit the jackpot. Or, in this case, an unprotected and vulnerable chest.

"Agh-"

The blade was swift and forceful; the desperate swing easily tearing through the cloth that was the lab coat and embedding itself within the center of Newsom's slender chest in close proximity to the heart. Blood exploded out, with the waterpipe-like pressure that was the all-important vena cava vein being punctured like a balloon.

The grip loosened and, soon, vanished from his throat, allowing much-needed oxygen to flood into his struggling lungs with a gasp. Hands immediately going to nestle his throat, he looked at the horrendous scene in front of him.

Newsom's eyes had already begun to slightly glaze up and, after a moment or two of futile clawing at his chest and attempting to stay upright, his body fell to the ground like a stringless puppet.

"You… can't have…"

Each word was delivered from the ground with less and less force, but with increasingly necessary effort of will.

He stared at the insane lunatic, heart racing and blood pumping, and the lunatic used what would end up being his last seconds to force his body to stare back.

"I was… supposed to… be inferior… told all my life...but… why…?"

At last, the liters and liters of blood flooding the floor had become enough to overcome the shock effect keeping the man alive and, with a final exhale, he collapsed into the pool of scarlet surrounding him. For the first time since coming into contact with the man, his face showed nothing.

Ah, fresh air. How he had missed this!

The good Colonel Rathers stepped out of the parlor of the Georges Estate a happy man. Happiest he has felt, matter of fact, since his last pyrrhic mission in the Federation.

Why, you may ask? A multitude of reasons. His reassignment to the capital, full day's rest, and getting all the caffeine out of his system for once certainly contributed. Primary amongst them, however, was the gift from the heavens that he had received in the communication from his superior mere hours before, signaling his ascendence to nobility within the week for a job well done. Sure, it may have hinted at the need for further jobs and sounded a little as though it were blackmail, but corruption came with risks. Worthwhile risks, one and all.

Hard work sure did pay off. When done for the right people, of course.

"My Lord!"

The two privates on either side of the snowy white doors quickly crossed their fist over their chest in salute to him in unison as he exited, dark red neck cape nearly getting trapped in the door as they shut. Ah, they would be a part of the new contingent sent in to replace him and his fellow successful plotters.

"At ease. My orders just came in to return to the capital for further search operations. Until then, command will be entrusted to Captain Growits. Greet him as you would greet me."

"Of course, My Lord!"

As he had begun to look forward and approach the military transport vehicle in front of the gardens, a voice behind him spoke up, "Uh… my lord, permission to ask a question of you?"

Ah, that would be one of the two guards. Oh well, might as well make some conversation before he went off to greatness. "Permission granted, and would you please just refer to me as Colonel?" The whole "My Lord" schtick was always tiresome to him, especially when he was in the private's position once upon a time, and he would be damned if he gave up the opportunity to tell unnatural military etiquette where to shove itself.

"Yes, of course Colonel. I was just wondering, when do you think the Prince and Princess will be found? Is there any news?"

That caused him to give a slight pause in thought. Of course they would be curious. They likely had only been briefed on a surface level, kept in the dark as to the goings on of the situation. And, if the side eye of the man's partner gave anything away, it's that the man was not supposed to give any indication of such to a superior.

Normally, such information would be privy to those the higher ups deemed important enough to hear it. Being in the bliss he was now, Rathers was unconcerned of such things. "Well, it's not looking good, I can tell you that much. They haven't been found by any of the (official) search missions and none of the brass knows what's going on at the moment (as planned). Still, you never know when something could happen (it won't), so don't be shocked if anything happens."

"Of course, Colonel." His subordinate's face looked slightly more at peace with the information, satisfied at learning slightly more about his own role.

Turning back around towards his transport, he once again began towards it, allowing military procedure to once again fall to the wayside as he gingerly walked towards it. His ears picked up some slight buzzing in the distance, but he shoved any concern of insects out of his mind as he happily continued on his way.

So happy he was, however, that Fate inevitably found a way to muck it all up and drag him into the dirt, as per usual.

"Sir!"

The door slammed so violently that it nearly caught the private he had just been speaking to between it and the wall.

For a second goddamn time, he turned around, impatient at all the delays. "Yes, what is it? And what is so important that it cannot wait the half hour it would take for my relief to arrive and take over?"

The attempted rebuke did nothing as the man, now identifiable as one of the few Warrant Officers on site, continued, "It's Ardent and Optim sir, they've been found!"

…

It took a few moments for the sentence to register. One moment to translate the codenames of his meal tickets to a better life, the second to match them with the rest of the sentence, and the third to try to understand what that meant. Then, after it registered, moments four and five were spent on confusion and wild internal panic, respectively.

"Wh-What do you mean they were "found"? The investigation was going nowhere yesterday evening!?"

And it was; his persuasive leader on this mission had been none too gentle in making sure all of the area's effective criminal investigators had been mysteriously found in a drunken slumber in their homes late two evenings ago as the official investigation began. How could the dimwits in their place have gotten anything done?

The man adopted a slightly quizzical look. "But, sir, you must have been informed of the investigator's replacement. At the Emperor's direct orders, no less!"

He thought back.

"...absolutely no disruptions until morning Private."

"But sir… I don't have the authority to order tha-"

"THEN TELL THE LIEUTENANT COLONEL TO GIVE THE ORDER!"

"...no, I have not been informed. You are certain of this? Absolutely certain?"

"Of course, my lord. One of the new teams on the ground found them several miles up north, on the outskirts of one of the old ghettos. According to my information, they should be arriving via armored helicopter to this location within the next few minutes."

And damn him if that wasn't a helicopter he could hear buzzing, growing stronger the longer he waited until it had landed on the helipad on the other side of the grounds. Needless to say, this was most decidedly not part of any plans he knew of.

Outside, he was stoic and calm, retreating into the safe shell of military professionalism. "Order all units stationed around the Estate to be on full alert. Get the children secured safely into their respective rooms and keep them there until further orders. Also, get me a secured line in the operations room to someone in the Royal Palace at Pendragon."

"Yes, sir!" Off the man went into the main mansion.

Outside, he remained stoic and calm as he marched in after the man. Inside, however, he was going batshit crazy in worry, stress and confusion. How the hell were things fucked up this time?

And, more importantly, how could he get his ass off this sinking ship before it fucked him as well?

"This way my Prince, immediately!"

He could barely make out a sound over the ear splitting noise of the armored helicopter's wind-shattering blades.

"Get Hessler's and Fitz's squads to secure the hallways, and tell command to monitor the perimeter."

Could hardly move towards the southern field's helipad entrance with the weight hugging onto his side desperately and dragging down his already-injured limbs, as if he might vanish.

"Quick, get them to their rooms, and for god's sake keep them there til further ordered. No exceptions!"

"Yes, My Lord!"

Couldn't concentrate on anything around him, worrying that if he tried to, he would only be driven further into his fresh memories.

"Barnel's squad, take the princess! My men, with me to the Prince!"

That was, until he began to notice the replacement of the daylight with indoor chandeliers. And the absence of the crushing force on his kidneys.

"No, don't take me away!"

Unscrupulous, the men dressed in pitch-black had ripped Nunnally away from his side, and began attempting to transport her to her room, located on the opposite side of the mansion to his own.

But, he had just got her back. He couldn't let it happen again.

"Nunnally! No, don't take her! Don't you touch her!"

He wouldn't let her be taken again. Not this time. Mustering what force he could, he forced himself out of the grip one of the men had on his arm and rushed to her side, hugging her back in the process.

"Brother! Please, I- I don't want to go!"

He hugged her with all the force he had left after such a tumultuous day, resisting the stone grip on his shoulders that tried to pry him away from the most precious person to him in the room.

"Oh, for Christ sake men, just take them together. Get them to the Prince's room. And Barnel, get your ass to the greeting room and fill in Palace security."

The grip had disappeared, but the old one on his arm reappeared. Sensing that it did not intend to repeat the earlier attempt, Alfonso relented, and began the march back to his quarters, Nunnally in tow.

However, whatever hesitation present before had quickly evaporated after the most recent struggle. Looking around, he could immediately see that the Estate was on lockdown in a way he had only studied in schematics. Solid steel coverings had replaced the glass, allowing for not even a single stream of light to pass through. Guards monitored every door- some in the black of special ops, and some in the gray of the typical security- and watched with hard eyes the procession down the hall.

He would have continued his observations, had it not been for the interruption that was coming his way.

"Alfie! Nunnally!"

That voice!

A small voice piped up from his side. "Lelouch?"

He looked over his shoulder and, to his surprise, his younger brother indeed stood at the intersection he had just himself passed, his normally pondering or frustrated eyes instead becoming slightly wet with tears. He ran up to them quickly, making his way around the guards that tried to stop him with unusual flexibility.

"Let him pass! Bring him too!"

Relenting, the guards cleared the path, allowing for the younger prince to nearly tackle the pair in a hug. A hug which was quickly returned.

"I missed you so much! It was- I couldn't- I don't want you to do that ever again!"

Nunnally, in response, tightened her own hug. Alfonso also quietly gave his own. "Never again, I promise you Lelouch. It won't happen ever again."

"And this time, I will keep that promise. I swear."

Time can be such an altogether impossible subject to comprehend. Sure, it can be fickle, and the life of any one soul within its tight grasp could change on the drop of a hat. However, certain unyielding constants still remain.

Alfonso knew this too well.

Over a week had passed since their recovery, and yet he had already been rushed back into the trifles of the daily life of an Empire's prince. As he could tell by looking over his right shoulder at the person still within his room.

"Overall, the lesson on Advanced Algebraic Equations has now concluded. I will of course expect you to review all that we have gone over before the… well, be prepared for your final examinations."

He could hardly manage more than a slight nod towards the mathematics professor. "Of course, Professor."

"Right, then. I shall now take my leave." And with that, the unpleasant situation had come to an end. Finally being able to drop the facade of caring after over seven hours of lecturing and problem solving (broken only by a dinner he ate together with his siblings), the young prince simply returned to the corner, sat down on the hardwood floor, and resumed the fetal position that had become all-too familiar over the last week. Thinking.

Tutors galore had begun to demand more hours than he was willing to give from this solace, although the ones in charge of his education were not a sympathetic lot in any way, seeing as how he found no time to himself between the ending of one lesson and the start of a new.

Royal parties had also stolen his person more than a couple times. Such displays of wealth and power were not unknown, however given that one of the heirs to the mightiest empire on the planet had recently and viciously escaped a terrible fate and lived to tell the tale, such events were a given to welcome the return.

The nobles had been able to learn little of the latter point, and for what reason they did not he had no idea. However, this was to be expected, as unbeknownst to the Prince, the security services disposed of the evidence with haste on the orders of the Palace.

At the moment, that was still yet another thing to add to the mountain of things he could not figure out, much like the reasoning behind all of the horrible actions he had been forced to commit.

He hoped that the mountain might become large enough for an avalanche. Then it might bury him and he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

A knock on the door soon broke him out of his thoughts. Given the lightness but assuredness of the sound, it would have to be his personal guardian, Ashworth. Quickly standing up and rushing over to his bedside before anyone could see what he had been doing, he responded, "Yes?"

"Your highness, the princess has arrived again tonight. Proceed as usual?"

Of course, he had fallen back into calling him by his title. But, given recent…. events...

…

...he would just have to correct him again later. But that was tomorrow's problem.

"Of course! Let her in!"

Before giving the elder man a chance, he rushed to the door and yanked it open himself. "Welcome back Nunna!"

She wore her bright pink nighttime gown, but her face was not as bright as the dress would make one presume. After making her way through the door and closing it, Nunnally proceeded to walk over to him and hug him for nearly a minute, before her subdued voice made an appearance.

"I still don't wanna sleep in my room. Can I stay here again?"

Five days in and she still keeps asking the same thing over and over.

"Yes, of course you can" was the response, along with a small pat on the head. She smiled softly at him, breaking up the hug and walking over to the bed.

She had been coming into his room for the past several nights at this point; whenever she could, she tried to be with him or, failing that, tried to stick around Lelouch and keep up with his younger brother's own antics with chess. It was still a little too soon to go back to playing in the yard and chasing each other around, it seemed.

Lifting himself up onto the other side of the bed after a quick change into nightclothes, he moved into the familiar sleeping position that he had gotten back into, laying on his right side and facing his sister, who lay on her left. He would prefer to have been able to spread out and take up the entire bed, but for obvious reasons, he just brought his knees up.

However, seeing that Nunnally was simply continuing to lay there and look into his own eyes, he decided that now would be as good of a time as ever to broach the elephant in the room. Or, atleast, the elephant that he saw. "Sis, you can't keep coming in here forever."

She looked at him, blank. He didn't want to say it; heck, he despaired thinking about her being alone and away from him. But the longer this continued, the less likely it was that he could convince her to separate herself from him and grow up.

"You have your own room for a reason, and we can always see each other in the morn-"

"No!"

He didn't expect to be cut off mid sentence like that. Nor did he expect Nunnally to move closer to him, face expressing a sadness and concern that he was not used to seeing.

"I won't leave you alone again! If I'm not here, you might… you might just run away again!"

Never.

"I promised Nunnally, I won't do it again."

"I believe you, but… I can't be alone again. I keep thinking you might disappear or vanish! If I'm here, that can't happen, right? You won't be able to even try to leave us again, right?"

Looking into her pleading violet eyes, he found himself feeling guilty for even bringing up the topic in the first place.

"I… I guess so. Ok then Nunnally, you win this time." He chuckled to himself. "Just like you always do."

"If Brother didn't think so wrong all the time, I wouldn't have to be so right!"

Sharing in a smile, they both returned back to their sleeping position. It was nice to be able to laugh again, and he was especially thankful that she could. "Fair point, Nunna. Fair point."

After bidding each other good night, the process of attempting to sleep began. It had taken hold on Nunnally much quicker than it did on Alfonso, however. Being five years younger than his own eleven (technically thirty four years of existence, but he considered himself more and more as the child he appeared with each passing year), it seemed as though she had forgotten everything that had occurred, with the only vestige of the event remaining her increased closeness to himself.

While it appeared Nunnally was dealing with the kidnapping events through repression, that was not so for the soul still fully awake hours later.

He hadn't been getting much sleep recently; he only pretended to wake up half the time when Nunnally herself did, with the other half the time consisting of him being too asleep to be able to wake up at that time.

The events, he may have been able to outrun. But, much like his old life's mistakes, his memories caught up to any lead he thought he could gain on them. He never- had never imagined he would ever kill anyone. Spilling blood was only something a phrase he had heard given life to through a somber song in a car ride or an old action thriller his previous father had loved so much. But the blood… it was never as bright in the movies. Never as real as it was then when it was covering his body and soaking into his skin and onto his sou-

He broke that train of thought forcefully. Each night, it was the same thoughts. Why? Why was his second life so much harder, its challenges so much harder?

It would likely never be known.

A small shuffle to his side aided in breaking his thoughts. It was Nunnally, squirming slightly in her sleep and her face beginning to scrunch up in fear. It had been like this the last few nights. Like he had then, and as he would now, he took her into his arms and held her close. "It's okay, everything is okay," he whispered and, after a few moments, it was. Her movements slowed and soon tampered off, peace returning to her dreams once more it appeared.

Closing his eyes for what he hoped would be the final time for the night, he made sure his last glance was on his sleeping sister's now peaceful and quaint face.

Maybe that was why, he pondered. Either way, it was time to get serious. After everything that has happened, he considered this world, these siblings, his true family now. And, while his father might not give a single shit about whether they swam or drowned in the sea and his mother was, while an improvement, still not always there, it would have to be he that took on the burden of keeping them safe.

The world has proven that it didn't much care for his own existence, and only slightly more for Nunnally's. So, he would have to keep her, and Lelouch, afloat. With that came struggle, as he had clearly learned, and quite probably blood, especially considering the way the previous infighting for the throne had occurred. But he would just have to withstand it.

"Screw you world." came his final thoughts before the weariness of his body finally caught up with him and brought him to slumber. "You aren't taking her from me again."

Hello all, offtimeotaku here!

It appears as if the hero's have won out the day this time, but at what cost? Will they win next time? Will their mental scars heal? And most importantly, will I manage to write the next chapter before hell freezes over? Stay tuned to find out!

But really though, my plans for the story are accelerating, and I shall not allow my recent move to a college dorm to stop them. Those plans, you ask? With the end of one arc comes the beginning of another. Which shall involve a time skip.

A time skip will allow me to completely refocus the story, and will also force me to actually solidify the backstory of these characters and progress into the plot of the show. That being said, my current thoughts are going to be about how to handle Alfonso's impact on the children's exile, and where exactly he could end up. Who knows? Could be Japan, could be nowhere, could be the Federation. Only I know for sure.

Next time, we shall see the brewing of a rebellion, the breaking out of a familiar scene, and the introduction of a brand new force into the mix.

Reviews!

Lambda38- Yeah, in hindsight the leaping around was a little poorly executed, but I attempted to more clearly lay out a sequence of events here. Just know that the majority of this chapter and chapter 8 are intended to occur between the small skip in time at the end of chapter 6. It might be a slightly unrealistic timetable, but I kinda put the time skip in chapter 6 without fully realizing how much would go into filling it.

That's all from me for today all. Have a nice day!