Demons, Lifeswordpa, Coilingdragon – Your comments put a big smile on my face. Thank you for the praise.
Lelouch Strife – Who knows? They may fall in love, they may not.
Vienx and BlackTyrant – Who's to say Lelouch will fall in love with anybody over the course of this story, anyway? Harem is definitely not where I'm gonna go, sorry – it's actually one of my least favorite aspects of the show, the whole "every girl at Ashford is in love with Lelouch" aspect. He's a handsome, charismatic devil, but a hundred and eight dates? Ridiculous.
HESpecOps – Yeah, I've checked out TV Tropes before. Informative stuff. Lelouch is definitely the king of Xanatos Speed Chess, largely due to his incredible improvisation abilities.
Impressed – Then you will, hopefully, love this chapter.
That's all for now. Thanks a lot, guys – glad you're enjoying the ride.
[*****]
"…And furthermore, last year's Absolute Silence Party was a disaster!"
"Of course it was! Who would want to go to a party with no talking? Right, Lelouch?"
Snapping out of his reverie and florid daydreaming, Lelouch looked around the Student Council room and at his fellow classmates, friends, and coworkers. "Huh? Yeah, sure," he responded intelligently. Lelouch had almost forgotten how comforting and easy it was behind Ashford Academy's walls, a place where your heart, mind, and soul could generally be at ease. Adolescent freedom, for most kids, anyway.
"You are alright, right? I mean, after what happened yesterday, anybody would be shell-shocked," Rivalz said, shifting to face him. "You're handling better than I would, anyway."
Lelouch smiled and shook his head. "I just needed a good night's sleep. Everything that happened there at the Expressway was an accident, simple as that. What about you? Sayoko told me you were in a… bit of a fuss."
Rivalz laughed, flustered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I kinda lost my cool. But hey, I just needed some rest like you," he added confidently.
"And an emergency inhaler for the sudden bout of asthma you got, along with constant supervision throughout the day," Milly Ashford put in, shrugging her shoulders. "But if you want to call that rest…"
"Right as rain, Miss President. Speaking of rain, the Equestrian Club wants some additional funds after the storm wrecked some of the outhouses down by the field."
Milly slapped her forehead. "Seriously? We already gave them funding for horse feed and stables!"
"To be fair, Milly, the outhouses were crushed by falling trees," Shirley Fenette put in, who was looking through a leaf of papers, slowly sweeping through the text with a pen.
"They should have thought of that before building them there," Milly proclaimed, putting her hands on her hips and smiling. "We'll see what we can do. Maybe."
"Shirley, what did the class do in choir yesterday?" Lelouch questioned, turning to more practical matters.
"O-oh, um, we're still doing Viverdi tunes and jazz."
"Jazz? Castronovo or Jensen?" Lelouch wrote down a few reminders.
"Castronovo. It's really giving the tenors a workout."
I wonder if the operation is going well... "Thanks, Shirley. I'm sure I can ask for some sheet music."
"Oh, and in chemistry, we're still doing those BCA table things," Rivalz put in.
Milly Ashford shook her head, and sat down in a swivel chair. "I am sorry about all that, Lelouch – you never should have been in that kind of danger. But! If you hadn't been gambling and skipping class in the first place, wellll…"
Lelouch gave a knowing smirk. Milly had covered for him dozens of times over – she knew her magic wouldn't work on Lelouch. "Don't knock it 'til you try it."
"Speaking of which!" Rivalz exclaimed, searching through his calendar. "Some folks have been asking for a rematch! Miss Zhenya, Sir Roy, Gregorio, that one chain smoker dude…"
Lelouch's eyes sparkled. "Zhenya, hm? Maybe."
"Ugh, you're just going to get Rivalz into more trouble now," Shirley muttered with a smile, shaking her head.
"Hey, he'll be with me."
"And that's a comfort? You're a doom magnet, Lelouch," Milly proclaimed, ruffling his hair.
Lelouch flipped his hair back into place, inspiring a few laughs. "What can I say? I die hard… hey, Nina!"
A shy, small girl in the corner of the room jerked her head up and looked at Lelouch; she had been wrapped up in her work as usual. Nina was not what Lelouch would have described, right off the bat, as classically pretty, but there was something pleasing about her demeanor. "Uh-huh?"
"You watch the news a lot. Has there been… anything?"
Nina looked briskly at her computer, then at everyone in the room. "Something happened in the Shinjuku Ghetto the other day. Lot of restricted traffic nearby… apparently the terrorists had gotten something dangerous…" Nina clutched her arms, a distant, scared look in her eyes. "They mentioned the Britannian military was fighting to get… whatever it was, back, but nothing beyond that."
So the media isn't just above making shit up. Great.
"Crap! And Shinjuku wasn't more than a half hour away from us," Rivalz exclaimed, looking at Lelouch."
"Maybe you guys should lay low for a little while," Shirley insisted, who had a worried, problematic look in her eyes. "Until all the terrorism stops."
Sorry, Shirley, but you have no idea. "Yeah, maybe you're right." Lelouch pulled out his handheld, scrolled through his messages.
"You've been checking your phone a lot today," Rivalz observed.
Been waiting for my "clients" to check in. "Any happier news?" Lelouch spoke up to Nina.
A little smile played at the corner of Nina's lips. "Um, there were a bunch of stray cats rescued."
"Good enough," Lelouch said, rising and packing his things. "Is that all for today?"
Milly sighed and nodded, checking her watch with calm precision. "Okay, guys. Rivalz, make sure to send an invoice to the Film and Drama clubs – let them know that if we keep distributing our supplies and budget to them, we won't have anything left! Shirley, see what the student votes have to say about the Prom designs. Nina… could you do my homework?"
Nina shook her head, an amused smile on her face. "Sure thing," she said quietly.
"And Lelouch?"
"Hm?" Lelouch turned to face Milly.
"It's good to have you safe," Milly said, a soft smile plastered on her face. Shirley nodded shyly in agreement.
"It's good to be safe," Lelouch said, exiting out into the hallway, with Rivalz in tow, darting outside.
"Do you want to hit up the arcade or something? Or maybe grab something to eat?" Rivalz asked, an apprehensive and apologetic look on his face. He was really beating himself up over yesterday.
Lelouch shook his head, toted his handbag strap over his shoulder. "Sorry, Rivalz. I've got a few things to attend to. I need to relax for a little while, and you do too." Lelouch cast a meditative gaze over the school courtyard. "Take it easy, okay?"
Rivalz patted his shoulder. "I'm gonna head out. You'll be with me in spirit."
Lelouch bid him goodbye and watched him as he descended a stairway. From all around him came the sounds of school activity and hubbub: the private, discrete conversations some groups of students had between each other, of which Lelouch could catch only small snippets and phrases; the sight of students gathered beneath the shade of trees, zipping up their uniforms all the way against the dropping temperatures; the hurried, excited walks of the students granted early release time. The cool air was sharp in his lungs, and Lelouch began to recall a sunlit and cold day back at the Aries Villa, playing an exploration game with Euphemia, who'd played the polite and knowledgeable princess while Lelouch posed as a heroic crusader.
"The Knight of Zero". Yeah, that's what I'd called myself during that game…
He'd begun, in those first days after the incident with Clovis, reminiscing more and more over the past, and found himself thinking of his siblings an awful lot. Confronting Clovis was like meeting a ghost from his past, and he was bound to bring memories with him. And they did; they were mostly happy ones, a random gallery of images and moments that drifted across his mind like clouds in a time-lapse video: his mother, who would stand by the door to watch him sleep sometimes, who'd indulged in Lelouch's outrageous, childish fantasies with all the endless humor and fun she could manage; Cornelia standing atop a railway, rifle in hand and sword at her hip, taking a moment to wave back to him before barking some orders to a few faceless guards; the slightly awkward conversations Lelouch had with some of the young servant girls and handmaids, which consistently mostly of him talking and them listening with timid respect, and occasional awe; Lelouch and Schneizel sitting around a game of chess, laughing at something stupid Odysseus had said, blind to the great unknown void unfolding before them. He'd also thought a lot about Japan, and his brief but exhilarating time with Suzaku, like the way Lelouch would become envious of Suzaku's incredible physicality and strength, the polite but fleeting attempts Lelouch would make to keep Suzaku's cousin, Kaguya, away from him so he could read a book; Lelouch, sitting against a log, staring at the purpling mountains in the distance, saying to himself: "How beautiful it is here."
Was.
Lelouch frowned and stepped into a bathroom, finding an open stall and sitting down, unzipping his handbag and pulling out a single note sheet. It read:
"Geass, What I've Learned:
Only works with direct eye contact and voice commands. Consider shortening commands.
I can use as far as under 1/5 of a mile.
Many commands can be given if I phrase it correctly.
Subjects don't seem to have memory of events before, during, or after Geass. Still consider using it for memory altercation anyway.
Cannot inherently control the body; only the mind.
Eyeglasses aren't a problem; visors and sunglasses are. It only earned me a strange look.
Orders can be as detailed as possible.
Can only be used once!
Lelouch rubbed his finger on his chin, studied the list over and over, thought of anything else he could add.
There's no such thing as being too careful. I've learned a lot about Geass in these last few days… but not enough. I need more.
Lelouch stepped out and walked toward the East Building, and found his usual subject, a certain Sebastian Cross. He was holding a guitar in his lap and playing, like always; he'd become known as "the guy with the guitar" around school. He was idly plucking notes, his face drawn in concentration and passion. He looked up and gave a smile. "Yo, Lelouch! How are you, dude?"
"Reasonable. Your playing's getting better, Sebastian."
He plucked a few more notes and chords, which had a pop-rock melody about it. "Always room for improvement, dude."
"I agree. You should play some more of those funny, made-up songs you come up with all the time. Milly's gonna be organizing a bunch of events in the coming months, and you could be, eh, musical entertainment."
He gave a thumbs up. "Now that sounds rad."
Lelouch activated his Geass. "If you don't mind, I want you to follow three orders. Can you do that?"
Sebastian fixed his eyes on Lelouch, which sagged beneath the weight of the Geass power. "Of course. What do you wish?"
I will never get used to that. "I want you to play Revolution Sun Saints."
A pause, with an odd stare at Lelouch. "I apologize, I do not know that."
"That's fine. For my second order, I want you to recite the entirety of the periodic table in Spanish, until I tell you to stop."
Without missing a beat, Sebastian began after a few seconds. "Hidrógeno, Helio, Litio, Berilio, Boro, Carbono, Nitrogeno, Oxígeno…"
"That's enough. And for my final order… go buy me a soda." Lelouch handed Sebastian a dollar. "That'll be all." Sebastian nodded, took the dollar, and walked off to go and find the nearest soda machine.
Lelouch quickly began adding more notes. They can't do anything that's an impossibility. Revolution Sun Saints isn't a real song, just something I made up, therefore it can't be played. Foreign languages and recitation don't seem to be a problem, so long as it already exists.
Lelouch's cellphone vibrated, and he fumbled with it for a moment, pulling it out. His eyes widened; it was a message from an unknown number, one that Lelouch had been waiting for the entire day. Nervously, he sat down and examined the contents of the message.
It read: "We have retrieved it. Absolute secrecy, under-radar travels. No casualties. Is hidden."
Enthralled, Lelouch texted back: "Well done. Your service is complete," before sliding the phone back into his pocket and leaning against the wall in triumph.
So they retrieved the toxic gas from Shinjuku in perfect secrecy. I can use the canister for something... it also might contain some clues about Geass, or about that girl, C.C….
He'd used his Geass to organize the theft of the Britannian-made "poison gas" canister left behind in Shinjuku, using his Geass to secure random foot troops, reconnaissance, vehicles, and decoys, giving them very detailed orders. As Lelouch had anticipated, the local Area 11 military police were staying away from Shinjuku Ghetto for the time being, consolidating their forces. He also suspected Clovis wouldn't dare make a move for the container just yet, fearing the possibility of soldiers discovering C.C. and learning there was no poison gas to begin with, that it was all one enormous conspiracy. It was the riskiest venture Lelouch had made so far with his Geass, and to see it all pay off pleased him to no end, because it had been wracking his nerves the whole day.
And even if that operation had failed, and the people I organized were captured, there's no way they can trace it back to me, thanks to the specifics of the order I gave them.
Sebastian came back with the soda, and Lelouch drank. It was the sweetest drink he'd had in a long while.
[*****]
BRITANNIAN CONTAINMENT CENTER
AREA 11
Today was shaping up to be one of the longest and most puzzling days of Lord Jeremiah Gottwald's life.
Jeremiah was one of the only Purist Faction soldiers unable to partake in the events that transpired on the Shinjuku Ghetto; he had to stand in and organize some matters with the Toyko Settlement military police and municipal government, which left his sub-commander Villetta Nu in charge. When he'd gotten the report back from Lord Kewell, who had tried to gather as many of the puzzling and shocking details together as possible, Jeremiah was stunned speechless.
The operation to retrieve the poison gas should have been a win-win battle from the start. Not only would it keep the resistance from having an edge, but it would have allowed the military to corner the rebel Elevens inside Shinjuku and finish them off for good, along with any vital data they might have had on them. But, all of a sudden, the Elevens had gained the upper hand and were squarely defeating the trained, armed, and prepared soldiers. However, those weren't the strangest details, not by a long shot. A few shock troops had reported the supply train of Knightmares being intercepted and stolen by the rebels by some chance, which had led them to suspect a traitor in their midst; this was further solidified by the incredibly strange way the rebels seemed to know exactly where the Britannian Sutherlands and soldiers were placed. The strangest thing was, bar none, the attempt on Villetta Nu's life by a certain Corporal Marcus Jaxon, who'd left Prince Clovis alone in his convoy.
They'd had Jaxon detained, jailed, and interrogated, threatened to execute him for daring to harm a Purist, but not only did he claim to know nothing, but almost the entirety of his comrades did as well. Almost every soldier nearby or close to Clovis' transport vehicles all squirmed and bluffed, denying any involvement or knowledge of the events that transpired. Not only did they all have the same testimony, they also claimed to have brief loss of memory.
It was at that moment Jeremiah felt fear, and decided to get involved in the investigations as well. After learning the facts and studying the circumstances, he requested to speak to Private Suzaku Kururugi, who would have to be brought out from his medical cell.
He was alone in the interview room at the military-police station; he looked at a mirror to his left. Pristine, well-kept blue hair, powerful jaw, orange-like eyes, and the disposition of a man who was incredibly tired.
Anybody who thinks time stops at car dealerships or dentist offices have never been to a police station.
According to certain testimonies and radio chatter, Clovis' personal Royal Guard, along with a few volunteers, one of them being Private Suzaku Kururugi, chosen for his outstanding military service – and possibly as a meat shield – and loyal attitude, had located and were being sent to intercept the payload of toxic gas, which was situated in a warehouse. Commander Gillan was leading the squad of Royal Guards. Villetta Nu had not received a message from Gillan confirming the canister was safe and secure, and had rushed in to intercept, nobody was alive, save for one person: Suzaku Kururugi.
Let's see what he has to say.
The intercom at the left side of the room buzzed. "Lord Jeremiah, we have Kururugi outside."
"Good that. Bring him in."
The door opened, and a chained and shackled Suzaku Kururugi, curly hair and bright, sad green eyes, was brought before Jeremiah Gottwald. Jeremiah could make out the imprints of bandages on the outlines of Suzaku's prisoner slacks; he was walking hesitantly, with a wince.
There's many ways to look guilty, or condemned, or angry. He looks resigned. Like he knows he did something.
Jeremiah gestured at the shackles. "Take those off."
One of the guards hesitated. "Sorry, Lord Jeremiah, but it's standard."
Jeremiah just laughed, deeply and crisply. "Off. Now."
A moment passed as the two guards looked at each other. They eventually removed the shackles; Kururugi's eyes were focused on the ceiling the entire time.
"Is that all, sir?"
"That's all. I want to question him personally."
"Yes, my Lord!" They saluted, unevenly, and walked out, closing the door behind them.
Jeremiah positioned himself in front of Suzaku, and folded his arms on the table, examining Suzaku's eyes for a moment.
"Earth to Private Kururugi?"
[*****]
Suzaku refocused his eyes and looked up at the man before him. Lord Jeremiah Gottwald…
"Yes? Sir? I'm sorry, I—"
"How are your wounds, Private Kururugi?"
Suzaku looked at him quizzically, squared his shoulders. "No need to worry, sir. I'm in no pain." Truthfully, Suzaku hadn't looked at his wound or bandages for days, but he would always feel jabs of pain if he took a breath too quickly, or slept on his back for too long. Not that the prison beds were particularly comfortable or even safe.
"How did you get wounded? Was it from a terrorist?" Jeremiah asked, resorting to practical matters.
Suzaku stretched his fingers. "I… I was shot by Commander Gillan."
Jeremiah drummed his fingers on the table, raised his eyebrows doubtfully.
Suzaku had a knee-jerk impulse to lie about the circumstances, say it was friendly fire, an accident, but realized at the last second that he had done nothing wrong, not as far as he knew. I have been explicitly ordered before to do some terrible things, for my superiors. I've probably been involved with the deaths of hundreds. But… Shinjuku was too much. With Lelouch, and the girl…
The means are as important as the result.
"We discovered the poison gas, but it… wasn't poison gas. A civilian had gotten wrapped up in it, and Commander Gillan gave me orders to execute him. I refused… and I was shot. When I woke up again, I was in the care of the Medical and Special Corps."
Jeremiah was an imposing force. Suzaku could feel Jeremiah scrutinizing him, and every nerve in his body seemed to jump when he caught himself looking right at the man. It was just him and Jeremiah Gottwald, the clean-cut protector of the Britannian people, standing tall over the slumped, wounded Private with his head in the clouds. Elite versus dreg. Power versus the powerless.
"Well, it might please you to know that Commander Gillan and the rest of his company are dead."
Suzaku felt rattled. He wanted to lurch away, heart pounding in his chest. "E-excuse me? Sir?"
"It was Villetta Nu - the woman who wound up carrying you to safety - that came upon the scene. All the Royal Guard had been wiped out by what looked like self-afflicted bullet wounds. You, however, had no serious wound."
A strange, jittery energy rose up inside Suzaku. He didn't feel comfortable. Suzaku swallowed, trying to answer, with a look of confusion and upset on his face, his emotions swirling between different extremes.
"And around the time you were brought into the company of the Special Corps, something… occurred. A great deal… no, all, of the standing guards and soldiers reported memory loss. Up to about an hour or more of lost time."
Suzaku found his voice at last. "What?"
"We don't know. That's the problem."
Suzaku turned his eyes away, sweating heavily. He thinks I had something to do with it. He thinks I'm a suspect…
Jeremiah let the silence hang in the air like a blade, and broke the silence after a few terrifying instants. "Kururugi, do you believe in the supernatural?"
Suzaku, perplexed, stared at Jeremiah. "Sir…? I… I do, yes. I do. I've been raised to believe in folklore and magic, spirits. Kami is the term. That spiritual energy exists within everything. Why do you ask… sir?"
"I have the feeling, Private Kururugi, I'm facing the great unknown, and it's staring right back at me. Something beyond my realm. In the unimaginable."
Clarity lit up Suzaku's mind like a sunrise. Jeremiah Gottwald, imperious, peremptory, and as powerful as he appeared to be, was scared out of his mind. This was not another day at the office for him.
A silent moment passed, and Jeremiah called for the guards, the door into the cage opening once more. "Sir, I… I promise you, I had nothing to do with… whatever occurred."
"We won't know for certain until we have all the facts now, will we? Here's what's going to happen, Kururugi. You're going to be transferred into a smaller, municipal cell in the Tokyo Settlement, where you will await a court trial, along with other prime suspects." Jeremiah snapped his fingers. "Bring in the next five."
"Do you believe me?" Suzaku asked, eyes gazing at Jeremiah with an intense glow about them.
Jeremiah rose, casting an imperial gaze over Suzaku.
"If you're telling the plain, undiluted truth, Private Kururugi, then you have nothing to fear."
[*****]
ASHFORD ACADEMY
In the privacy of his room, Lelouch was sitting at his desk and drawing. At the moment, it was strange to be alone; Lelouch kept looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching him. He didn't want anyone to stumble in and see the paper. The basic sketch was a man with a form-fitting mauve suit and trousers with gold linings starting from the shoulders and moving down the torso and legs; accompanied with it would be a black cloak with red lining the inside and the ends of the cloak encircling the head. A mask had been drawn, as well; a spiky, five-edged plexiglass mask, ideally enhanced with technology. There were notes and side-drawings dotting the paper, all of it run together to make a fully-formed outfit.
Zero.
Lelouch grinned mysteriously. The final designs are ready. Mr. Ishihara owes me a favor, anyway.
Lelouch opened a drawer in his desk, took out a pen, a piece of paper, a recording cassette, and a vocal modifier and synthesizer Lelouch had managed to procure. It was small, easily attached and removed, and based on the vocal tests Lelouch had done on it, the final result sounded convincing enough. Picking up the pen and paper, Lelouch scribbled down a note in a couple of quick strokes, and wrapped the paper around the pre-recorded tape. He lifted his eyes from the page and glanced at his watch.
Time to go.
"Sayoko, I'm off!"
A lucky stroke: approaching the Ashford Academy parking lot, Lelouch caught a single blue-haired boy tending to his motorbike, a wrench and toolkit hung loosely at his side. At the sound of his nearby footsteps, Rivalz glanced up, stood, and sat on his bike with his chin in his hands.
"Hey, Lelouch. How are you feeling?"
"The same," Lelouch admitted. "What are you doing?"
"Attending to some tune-ups is all, why?"
Lelouch pulled a single chess piece out of his pocket, and gestured to his backpack, which contained his silver briefcase. "Sir Roy wants a rematch. I don't think we should keep him waiting, no?"
He didn't need to say it twice.
[*****]
CASINO LABIOS – SHIBUYA DISTRICT
Kallen "Stadtfeld" hated the evening rush hour. The sun was going down earlier and earlier each day, and the night time was becoming more mellow and adventurous for potential fun seekers or venture capitalists looking to make money; unfortunately for her, the Casino Labios was an oasis for both. The "New City" was probably the richest, consumer-friendly area in Japan; the Tokyo Settlement had become a place where people saw cultural events like plays, symphonies, sports games. But for those who desired to relax and have a good time, the Shibuya District's night life was the place to be. Except for the employed citizenry.
There were times when it was okay. Sometimes she would receive a healthy tip; sometimes the gamblers or the nobles could be exceptionally nice to her; sometimes, something ridiculous would happen due to a drunk or someone trying to break into the vaults of the Casino. There were times when she could say she was enjoying herself. But all too often, the awkward, revealing outfit she had to wear, the male and female harassers she and her fellow waitresses had to put up with, the occasionally unforgiving hours, the Japanese racism that went on in whispered tones throughout the Casino, and the fact that Kallen had to force a smile on her face despite the aforementioned reasons was a little unbearable.
She'd gotten the job at the behest of Ohgi, and looking back on it, she could see his reasoning.
"Kallen, you should get a job. If your stepmother finds out about your secret life, she could disown you. You can use this job as a front or something."
And if I'm disowned by her, no house, no funds for the resistance (not that she knows anything about that), and nowhere else to go. My actual mother won't have anybody else to look after her, since she's working as a maid for that bitch of a stepmother… Kallen was supposed to travel lightly, leave as little impact or impression on the world around her as possible. To that end, she devised a fake Britannian name and ID, Kallen Stadtfeld. She didn't work in the casino as often as the other employees, adopting the persona of an ill-stricken girl to avoid suspicion of her involvement with the movement.
But damn, once I'm able to freely afford gin and tonics instead of serve them, I'm going to be as nice to the waitresses as possible. And tip them.
A young lady walked up to the bar, sluggishly. She was holding what looked like a handbag.
"Hello there, welcome to Labios," Kallen chirped, quasi-cheerfully. "What can I get you to drink or eat? Would you like a men—"
She placed the handbag down on the counter with a thump; her eyes looked… weird. What the hell?
"Please read and listen to this at your own discretion." Then, with a whisper: "Zero awaits." She said all of this in a monotone.
Kallen's eyes widened and she felt star-struck. Zero! So he's alive. We'd tried to contact him all throughout yesterday and the day before that, but no luck… how did he figure out I work here?! She swept and scanned the room briefly; when Kallen had begun work, the place was nearly empty, but more and more people had come in, and Kallen realized it was futile. I barely remember what he sounds like. We never got a look at his face…
Kallen turned to thank the agent, but the girl was already gone. Hastily, Kallen left her station and hurried down the hallway, passed security and into storage, placing that bag next to her locked-away possessions. She unzipped the bag briefly, checking to make sure nobody else was watching or noticing, and searched through the contacts of the bag. Contained inside was a single note. With trembling hands and racing heart, Kallen read the note.
"Call the number below. If you cannot contact me at 7:00, then wait an hour and contact me at 8:00, and so on and so forth. I expect to hear from you, Q-1…"
Kallen committed the number to memory, reciting it in her head over and over, and locked it up along with her other possessions. This would give her mind something to focus on for the entirety of the night.
[*****]
BRITANNIAN VICEROY ESTATE
Jeremiah Gottwald had been to Prince Clovis' fortress of a compound only once, the previous summer, to actually meet with the man and introduce himself, swear his loyalty. A pair of soldiers drove him in a van into the estate, stopped by police at the threshold of the enclosure so they could check their passports, military cards, check for any signs or coded plans of a terrorist attack; upon seeing Jeremiah Gottwald's blue-clad Purist jacket and uniform, however, they immediately let him pass, with mumbled apologies.
Thank you very much, Corporal Ass-Kisser.
He stepped from the van into the bright sunshine of an autumn afternoon, stretching and looking around. Seeing the guards lined up on the catwalks with Britannian rifles reminded him of the Aries Villa, and he smiled. The air felt thin and clean in his lungs, far different from the Shinjuku Ghetto or the tight, industrial setting of the prison compound.
He was met in the parking lot by a compact, portly man dressed in a General's uniform. This was Bartley.
"Lord Jeremiah," Bartley stated as they saluted to each other. "Was the ride satisfactory?"
"Good enough, I suppose. Your security is excellent here."
Bartley nodded. "You have agreed to meet Prince Clovis with humility, respect, and compliance?"
"Those are my key traits, after all," Jeremiah proclaimed, shaking Bartley's hand. "Take me to him."
Bartley escorted Jeremiah across the parking lot inside the estate, which had the richly, warm colors of an upper-class house; Jeremiah had the impression of walking into a movie set, for some reason. They stopped at the front desk, where Jeremiah was asked to turn over his weapons and identification. He was then led down a narrow hallway that opened to a flight of stairs; a tall, heavy, purple-clad metal door met Jeremiah's vision.
"This is Prince Clovis' office," Bartley put in.
What gave it away?
"I'm to leave you alone from here on out. Thank you for being so compliant," Bartley said; with a bow, he left to attend to other business.
Clovis rose from behind his desk as Jeremiah entered. He looked exhausted and worried, but his office was neat as a pin and his outfit was as sharp as possible. Jeremiah kneeled and brought his arm forward onto his knee, in a silent gesture of respect and obedience.
"My Lord," Jeremiah began.
"Greetings, Commander Gottwald. Please take a seat," Clovis responded, turning to face the broad windows in his office, watching the falling sunset. By this point, Jeremiah knew the basics of what was happening, and he expected Clovis had soundproofed the room to ensure maximum efficiency and security.
"Firstly, what's the status on the poison gas? Has it been retrieved?"
Jeremiah's smile faltered. "No, sir."
Clovis' eyes widened in fear. "Excuse me?"
"We've combed the Ghetto for days, sticking only to the places we know the poison gas was before the Royal Guard committed mass suicide and areas outside of the terrorists' range. We came upon the warehouse Villetta Nu found Private Kururugi in; we found the husk of the truck you mentioned, but… no gas. Bodies, yes, but no gas, my Lord."
Clovis slumped into his chair, permitted himself a human-looking expression of worry and anxiety. "This is bad. The terrorists must have retrieved it while they distracted us with the Knightmare battle…"
"That's my estimate," Jeremiah said, folding his hands across his lap. I left that place wondering if what I saw and heard was real or not.
"Shinjuku is a haunted place, Lord Gottwald. Do you remember the Villa?"
Jeremiah leaned back in his chair. "Of course – I was on the guardline. You were a younger boy back then."
"Very much so," Clovis said, nostalgically. "There was… a lot of mystery sounding Marianne's death, no?"
My greatest failure. "Yes, sir… we… still, haven't found out the cause of it. The case was dropped years ago." Jeremiah adjusted his jacket, and he suddenly realized why Clovis had chosen him, specifically, for the job, given his profile. Clovis had chosen him because of Marianne.
Clovis' expression softened. "How did the prisoner examinations go?"
"…Poorly. A great deal of people reported… memory loss."
Clovis glanced quickly at Jeremiah, shocked. In that moment, Jeremiah felt that Clovis knew more than he was letting on.
"Memory loss," Clovis repeated, breathing. "…Any prime suspects?"
"A handful. The list of prime suspects are Corporal Marcus Jaxon, my… own Sub-Commander, Villetta Nu, Sergeant Vector Sykes, and Honorary Britannian Suzaku Kururugi."
Clovis glared and ran a hand through his damp hair. "I thought it was suspicious when Kururugi was brought into medical care while the Royal Guard died…" He cut himself off, and his eyes widened almost comically. "Wait."
"My Lord?"
"What are you feelings about the Japanese, my Lord?"
Jeremiah didn't even need to think about his answer. "At best, noble savages; at worst, trash. I've seen them take the lives of some of my greatest friends and commanders. I refuse to rest until Britannia changes this misled country for the better."
Clovis, surprised by the soul and passion of Jeremiah's response, looked at him. "We can't let the public know about the poison gas yet. If the terrorists have gotten a hold of it, they'll use it soon. And due to the events on the Expressway yesterday, with all the helicopters and guns and Knightmares, the press is likely already looking into it."
"But the press ultimately answers to us."
Clovis smirked, and clarity hit Jeremiah.
"…What should we do, my Lord?"
Clovis thought about his answer for a moment. "…Reveal the details about the toxic gas, but make it seem like it was Japanese-produced. When the suspects are taken to their court trial, I want you to make it public and broadcasted on national television."
Sabotage and trickery. Not one of my favorites, but it'll do.
"I also want, in some fashion, Suzaku Kururugi to be made out as the lead suspect."
Jeremiah looked at Clovis, and laughed. "Of course not. There's no need to sully Britannia's reputation with having Britannian suspects."
"Spoken like a true military man," Clovis said, rising out of his seat. "Can you get into contact with that reporter fellow you know? Diet Hard or something?"
"Pronounced Dee-tard, not Diet Hard, my Lord," Jeremiah corrected respectfully. Diethard Reid. Greatest reporter I've ever known.
Clovis waved his hand indifferently, and shook Jeremiah's hand. "You're on the side of the Angels, Lord Gottwald."
"I've known that since day one, my Lord."
