Darth – Huh? Cornelia's in the thick of war against the European Union right now. Even if she wanted to take over as Viceroy of Area 11, she simply couldn't; her hands are much too full at this point, and abandoning her allies and regiments in the thick of war is going AWOL. She's not going anywhere for the time being, which is why she's using Jeremiah as reconnaissance. As for Euphemia, she'll show up later. I can understand where you're coming from, but I hadn't implied at all that Cornelia would come to Japan.
Blarg – Yeah, Kewell's more than just a throwaway racist. He's got a few aces up his sleeve; at least, that's what I got from the show. I've got something for Mao I've been dwelling over lately.
Thanks for all your feedback.
[*****]
TOKYO SETTLEMENT – OUTSKIRTS
Kallen Kozuki laid in her bed and stared at the ceiling fan as if it contained all the answers to her problems.
She had, as of late, become very fond of her room. Her room meant privacy and safety, a guaranteed amount of time of unobserved freedom and relaxation, one of the only times of day that solely belonged to her. Kallen was motivated to work all other available hours for the opposition's cause, and there were times when she felt truly at home with Ohgi and the other rebels – better them than her weak mother and arrogant stepmother – but simply lying on her mattress and letting her thoughts roam, sometimes all the way back to the undiluted streams and mountains of Japan, not the artificial pleasures of Area 11, was all that she needed.
Kallen took a glance at the lone window to her left side. She caught sight of rain slowly fanning into the leaves and grass, condensation growing on the window like an exhaled breath. It had been raining quite a bit lately, which only served to emphasize how cold and harsh the Japanese winters could be.
Her eyes fell upon a picture of Naota Kozuki. She frowned and switched on the portable radio on her nightstand, flipping back and forth through channels until she found a smooth jazz station she'd always liked. She sat back and just listened to the lounge-like piano, the low hum of the bass, the pleasing, wave-like sound of the keyboards, and for a few moments she almost forgot where she was.
Yet there were still matters to be settled. Kallen figured it would be that way until the day she died.
Do we need Zero more than he needs us? Or is it the other way around? After a long string of failures, he was the man that had stepped into the void. Unlike Naota and Ohgi, who were at least well-known or recognized throughout the terrorist cell network, Zero was virtually unknown. The mask didn't help matters. And yet it seemed like Zero had already laid the groundwork for a lengthy battle against Britannia. In addition to his implications that he already had an intricate network of spies, envoys, and conscripts at his beck and call, it left Kallen wondering: why was Zero relying on them so much?
Maybe it's because we know this country by heart. Maybe we're more useful to him than others. I don't know what he wants, and not knowing is really starting to bug me. What if he turns on us? Hell, what if he leaves? He can take on the world on his own… it might even be better this way. Zero may lead us to our death.
Kallen would never, ever forget that sinking feeling in her chest; that attendant, urgent fear that had possessed her that night in the Tokyo Settlement, when they'd rescued Suzaku Kururugi. Even after that night, she was bathed in an earthly calm, the kind of calm that only staring death in the face and blinking could produce. She was amazed they'd pulled it off to begin with; she was doubly amazed that they'd done so without a single casualty.
On live television, she thought with a smirk.
She heard a crash outside, and shot straight up, bolting for the door and grabbing her pocketknife. When she stepped out into the hallway, her eyes fell upon her mother, who was kneeling in front of a broken vase.
Holy shit. Kallen ran a hand through her hair, feeling hot and flustered all of a sudden. That felt… real. Too real. Too jumpy.
Kallen's mother turned around and smiled at her, though there was something effortful about it. "Oh, Kallen—Young Mistress, I mean. I… apologize. I hadn't meant to disturb you. Just a little accident, that's all."
Kallen narrowed her eyes, hoping her silence would bring an end to this conversation. You've been… off lately, Mom. Something's strange about you.
"Are you okay, Young Mistress?" she continued, trying to sweep the pieces of the vase into a dustbin. "It seems like you've been working all hours lately."
Once again, she can read right through me. Kallen shook her head. "None of your concern. Don't worry about it – everything's fine. There's hope."
"Oh?"
"…We have a new… manager," Kallen managed. "He's different. Preposterous, sort of nuts, but he gets the job done. A lot more customers and business thanks to him, which means greater wages, y'know."
Her mother smiled lightly and wrung her hands on her apron. "That's great, Kallen."
Kallen affixed her eyes on the apron, wanting her mother to stop wringing it for a moment. She glanced up and down the hallways, to see if her stepmother was around. "…I'm worried this new manager might do something that puts Labios out of business. He can be confrontational with… the gamblers. Stuff like that. Got any advice?"
"Do whatever feels right in your heart, dear," she replied, still wringing her hands. "Privilege your own character above all else."
Let go of that apron. Kallen gripped the sides of her shirt. "What's wrong with you?" she asked, harsher than she had intended.
"I'm a little sleepy, sweethe—my lady. You've been attending work a lot lately. Have you made any friends?"
That APRON! "I'm going out," Kallen announced, fed up. "Will you take care of things here?"
"Yes, of course. Will you be long?"
Kallen had already walked back into her room, slamming the door behind her. She took a look at her hair, muttering "Screw It" and hastily throwing on a jacket, stockings, and shoes, stuffing a knife and multi-use tool inside her jacket, along with her cellphone; as an afterthought, she grabbed her Diamond Dust necklace and threw it on.
"Privilege your own character above all else, Kallen. Like Mom always says."
The room suddenly felt empty to Kallen.
She stormed back out into the hallway and marched towards the stairs. Kallen tried her best to not look at her mother, who'd moved on from the broken vase and was now tending to sweeping beneath the rugs. At the threshold of the stairs, Kallen stopped and glanced back over her shoulder.
"I'll be back before sundown."
"Stay safe, Young Mistress, and have a good time."
"…I love you, Mom. See you later."
[*****]
MISSION STREET HOTEL AND CASINO
SHIBUYA DISTRICT
"Checkmate."
The nobleman sitting across from Lelouch shook his head slowly, and Lelouch almost laughed at the comically wild look in his eyes. From the moment he'd met Sir Roy, Lelouch had thought of him as a cheap vaudeville hero, with his huge, exaggerated gestures and broad movements. He was easy to like, which was more than Lelouch could say for most of his opponents; but he was also easy to predict and easy to play, which meant easy earning money.
Like Clovis.
"Impossible! How in Hell's Bells did you manage to do that?!" Roy proclaimed. He didn't sound angry – just a man accustomed to having his way.
"I had a pawn nearby your King. And since you had already used your Rooks and your remaining pawns were too far out to do anything, I seized the opportunity."
"Plus, you used a Castle back there," Rivalz said, referring to the tactical move. "You moved your King toward your Rook, and vice versa."
"Well, yes, but Rooks can move diagonally, right?" Sir Roy asked timidly.
Easy money.
"Actually, that's a Bishop."
"Oh. Well, good fun then," Roy managed. He reached into the pot, totaled the money, and handed the thick wad of Britannian Notes over to Lelouch, trying to appear as dignified as possible. It wasn't as satisfying as it used to be, but a change in lifestyle would do that to you.
Lelouch and Rivalz left, with Rivalz going on about some rematches and students and homework. It went in one of Lelouch's ears and out the other.
What should an army force have? If I'm going to progress any further as Zero, then I need to make a plan for what the assembly. Let's see… obviously we need a commander and sub-commander, with foot soldiers and shock troops. I'll probably need intelligence chiefs of some sorts, doctors, technicians, engineers, chefs… no, definitely engineers and scientists. We need Knightmare Frames badly. Maybe I could arrange the theft of some Frames from a supply depot over in the Toyko Settlement. There's something I'm missing. Media? Some kind of interior minister? I may need to hire a professional military trainer and use my Geass – those rebels learn fast, but I need them to be expert shots as fast as possible. I already have that network of people under my Geass' call…
"…it, Lelouch?"
"Huh?" Lelouch snapped out of it as they turned into a parking lot.
"Refrain, man. What do you think about it?" Rivalz asked, forking out some money to pay his parking ticket.
Lelouch didn't need to be asked twice. "Horrendous. It turns your brain into virtual mush, dulls you into bliss. I despise it. Why do you ask?"
"There's talk that some dudes on campus are getting addicted to it. Don't want to name names, but…"
When I get together a sizable force, the first thing I'm going to do is remove any and all traces of Refrain from this island. If the police aren't going to do a damn thing, then I will. "I'm not surprised. Seems like it's everywhere now. If dealers aren't selling it, then people are finding ways to produce their own batches."
"Is it true that your head lights on fire if you take too many doses?"
"How should I know? Anyway, you can take your bike home. I'm gonna grab a subway ticket."
"What? Why? Isn't that just a lot more work?"
"There's something I have to pick up, Rivalz. I'll see you back at class."
[*****]
JAPANESE WASTELANDS – BRITANNIAN-CLAIMED TERRITORY
"Lloyd, Miss Cecile? Are you behind the blast shield?"
"Indeed, Kururugi. We're watching the monitors as we speak! Fire at will!"
Suzaku, sitting in the cockpit of the world's first seventh-generation Knightmare Frame, Lancelot – currently running on twenty-two doses of Sakuradite extract, SR-71 Landspinners, six-lensed KnightScopes, and an ungodly amount of filtered ammunition and explosives – picked up the experimental VARIS Rifle and held it in his – Lancelot's – hands. A long-bore energy rifle, shockingly light in his hands, and freshly exported from the Homeland.
"It's already loaded with the necessary batteries and cells, right, Sir?" Suzaku asked, eyes flying back and forth between the various screens in the cockpit's dashboard.
"Yes, Kururugi! Just fire! Do something awesome!" Lloyd announced.
"Y-Yes, Sir. I apologize… I'm still getting used to this Knightmare."
It's a lot different than what the flight simulators led me to believe.
"Don't mind him. Just take it at your own pace," Cecile crooned.
Suzaku raised it, aiming it at a preset series of targets, adjusting the gain and properties. He plugged the rifle's data chord into Lancelot's forearm; Suzaku watched in amazement as a viewfinder appeared on the window in front of him. At the bottom of the screen he saw a readout: 314 Meters. Suzaku swept the rifle upwards. 728. Downward. 140.
Absolutely incredible. This is the future. I can feel it.
Taking a breath, Suzaku fired the VARIS Rifle and gasped as recoil struck Lancelot, nearly causing him to lose his balance. The sky shook as Suzaku regained his balance. As the VARIS' shot hit the metal targets, it split into smaller salvos that streamed over and under the targets, which then burst into tiny yellow flashes. When the light show was over, the metal crate had turned into a pile of rubble. Whereas the standard Positron Rifle was enough to make a dent or a hole in a metal crate, the VARIS Rifle made mincemeat out of said crates. There wasn't enough scrap metal left to make a blender.
Oh my god. "Lloyd, Cecile, what are the readouts?"
"Well above my expectations!" Lloyd mused, ebulliently. "Can you imagine what this monster would be able to do against a Sutherland? Or a Vincent?"
"How does it feel, Suzaku?" Cecile questioned, curious.
"I can feel that rifle's power, ma'am. My hands are still shaking," Suzaku confessed, laughing in exasperation.
"No, as in, how does it feel to be inside Lancelot?"
Like I can change the world. "It feels… different, ma'am. Like nothing I've ever seen or been in before."
"It better be. That's the whole point," Lloyd drawled. "Come on out and read the results for yourself."
Suzaku pulled out the ignition key and opened the cockpit panel. He stepped outside and stretched; while the cockpits were designed to be comfortable for the pilot, due to all the movement involved, they were still cramped and awkward. Not a breath of wind was blowing across the dusty, abandoned open country. He swept his eyes back and forth, getting an eyeful of all the carnage that the VARIS Rifle's shots caused.
And maneuvering around in Lancelot earlier, during general training felt… natural.
Suzaku glanced up at Lancelot, the silent, imposing White Knight, and for a moment indulged in a fantastical daydream: soaring the open skies, engulfed in an ocean of blue and white, Lancelot sweeping the horizon line and silently watching over the world like a guardian angel.
Maybe… Maybe I can change the world with this…
"Yoo-hoo!"
Suzaku blinked and faced Lloyd, who was now relaxing in a fold-up chair. In Suzaku's peripheral vision, he saw a couple of Britannian soldiers – escorts and guards, mostly – running up to the VARIS Rifle and checking its vital signs and data, ensuring it was still operational.
"Sorry, Sir…" Suzaku said.
"There'll be plenty of time to dream later," Lloyd announced, stirring a cup of pudding. "Come see the fruits of your labor first."
Suzaku stepped up to the digital readout; it took him a moment to decipher what all the symbols and graphs meant, but with Cecile's help, Suzaku quickly realized that Lancelot and the VARIS had experienced a 67% boost in general efficiency since the last testing.
"Sixty-seven percent…" Suzaku whispered. "That's—"
"Incredible," Cecile finished for him, watching him appraisingly. "We haven't such good results in a long time. This means we're at least doing something right."
"Told you so," Lloyd said in a vague sing-song voice. "And it was absolutely worth the cost, too."
"Several thousands of dollars and fifty pages of paperwork later…" Cecile exclaimed, with a tired sigh.
"Mm. If it weren't for CASTER, then it wouldn't have cost so much."
"CASTER?" Suzaku ventured, curious.
"Yes," Lloyd replied, with a mouthful of pudding. "One of Britannian Energy's many 'secret weapon' projects. Some corporate espionage happened, and then presto chango, the European Union got ahold of the schematics and turned it into the Estrella. Next thing you know, exports can cost up to millions of of dollars thanks to some shabby international law."
"Britannian Energy? I thought the Engineering Corps were the only Knightmare producers in Britannia."
Lloyd smirked. "Thanks to CASTER, we are." He stood up, running his hands through his mauve hair and placing them on his hips. "Now, I want to test out the Landspinners. I need a flamethrower, if you don't mind."
[*****]
A HALF-HOUR FROM THE VICEROY PRESIDENTIAL PALACE
AREA 11
Deep in Britannian-held territory, Kewell Soresi was driving a police jeep, complete with blue-and-white lights on the roof, and the initials of the Area 11 Military Police – A11MP – in big letters on the hood of the car. He was driving south from the Tokyo Settlement down unguarded roads beneath a milky-white moon; the transport's headlights were turned off.
There you are.
Catching a glimpse of someone on foot, Kewell pulled into a small parking lot; the rendezvous point. After a minute of waiting, Villetta Nu tapped on the passenger window. Kewell obliged her silent requests and unlocked the doors; she pulled into the seat, decked in her usual pink-black Purist uniform, toting a purple duffel bag over her right shoulder.
Kewell lit a cigarette, gazing at the tiny flame. "Status?"
"They're in position. We've made a virtual half-circle around the place, and all that's left is our part of the plan."
"We should arrive there shortly, then." Kewell started the engine and pulled out, making his way toward the Viceroy's Palace.
For a long, quiet moment, he let his eyes roam the sky and the road ahead, running over the plans and necessary steps in his head over and over. He was a military man, and a talented captain, but he'd never actively participated in something like this before. He glanced over at Villetta Nu, comrade, coworker, confidant. Part visionary, part out of touch, but never wrong.
Almost.
"Are you sure about this, Villetta?"
Villetta opened the glove compartment and pulled out a Britannian pistol, fully-loaded. "Have I ever not been sure about something?"
"If you want to turn back, now's the time. Any objections, whatever."
"When an opportunity presents itself, strike," Villetta proclaimed, rummaging through her duffel bag and pulling out some rifles. "I've tried to account for everything. But we can't let things go on the way they are right now. General Bartley is inoffensive at best as a stand-in Viceroy for Clovis; and the Purists can trace their lineage to the founding of Britannia. We deserve this more than anybody else."
Technically, you weren't born into a Noble family, but far be it from me to argue with a woman holding a loaded gun.
Villetta watched the road. "It's our rightful destiny. And I know you agree with me."
"Yes—"
"So why are you questioning my actions?"
Because for a supposed Purist, you've sure been showing an incredible amount of attention toward Suzaku Kururugi. "Just trying to make conversation, I guess."
Villetta let the remark pass. That wasn't what he meant and they both knew it.
"Still, you're right. The moment is… ripe. We can begin instilling our own policies and do what's right for this backwards island."
Villetta nodded. "Maybe so."
Finally, Kewell brought the vehicle to a halt as they approached the threshold of their destination, stopping a predetermined perimeter. It was almost oppressively dark and cold. Kewell let his eyes focus on the rearview mirror, watching for Caitlyn's mark and acknowledgement. He picked up the communicator from the floor and waited calmly, goosebumps popping up on his forearms.
Flash. There it is. A crackle of static, and then Jeremiah's voice came through. "In position."
"Taran?" Kewell spoke into the communicator.
"In position, and ready to fight clever. Tell me when," Taran responded.
Kewell took the hastily-drawn grid map from the dashboard to examine it. "And you're certain this is the safest possible route?"
"Sure of it. I've been here enough times to know," Villetta said, taking a drink from her canteen.
Back to the radio. "Sato?"
"Ready. There was an unexpected delay, but it's been taken care of."
"Valerio?"
"Ready."
"Palmer?"
"In position. Visibility good."
A flash in the rearview mirror. Mark.
"I'm going in," Kewell radioed. They continued on and found the Presidential Palace. In spite of its sophisticated name, the building was not much to look it; it had the bland, neutral qualities of a modern-day office building. Surrounding the area was a tall, chain-link fence bulked up with platforms and walkways for guards to take watch and patrol. Military vehicles, smaller jeeps, and a handful of civilian cars dotted the building's exterior; on the staircase leading up to the entrance, there were a pair of guards in the standard Military Police get-up.
Kewell's fists clutched the wheel. "Last chance."
Villetta nodded.
Well then.
Kewell and Villetta stepped from the van and obligingly put their hands up as they were met and accosted by the standing guards. Kewell pulled out his credentials and gestured to the Purist logo emblazoned on his collar, which the taller of the two guards eyed with some interest. The second guard was eyeing Villetta's duffel bag suspiciously.
"You must be Purists. Is Margrave Jeremiah not with you?"
"Not currently – he's out on some business," Kewell lied, tipping his head towards the Palace. "We've come here to see General Bartley. He requested our presence. You can go in and check with the front desk to verify."
They both unslung their weapons, and the taller one nodded after considering Kewell's words for a moment. "Follow us, we'll get you checked out. It's not that we don't believe you, but it's standard policy."
"Take all the time in the world," Kewell muttered.
After ascending the staircase, the electronic doors sliding open to greet them into the lobby, Kewell heard the sound of Villetta pulling a pin off a grenade. There were three guards and two lobby receptionists. All standing in one place.
Caref—
"Catch," Villetta taunted.
She threw the unpinned grenade inside and pushed Kewell onto the staircase outside. Before anyone indoors had a chance to react, an explosion shook the building inside, bathing the horizon in a furious, orange light. Villetta, wasting no time, hopped to her feet and ripped through her duffel bag, fumbled with a rifle and handed Kewell one as well. Kewell grasped it to his chest and hurried into the lobby and past the flame-soaked, debris-ridden receptionist desk.
Kewell strafed around the ground floor, his back to Villetta, eyes scanning the second and third floors.
"Bartley's office is in the thick of the third floor!" Villetta shouted. There was a distinct sound of conflict and chaos going on outside; all of a sudden, a Sutherland burst through the building, blowing a hole through the wall facing the entrance. Kewell whipped around and recognized Taran's Knightmare; standing by the Landspinners were Sato and Caitlyn, fully armed.
"Jeremiah and the others are providing suppressive fire outside!" Taran explained. He raised his Positron Rifle and began firing at the second and third floors; the world was a wash of light and loud, concussive sound.
"Move forward! Up the stairs!" Kewell said. There was no time for hesitation – only action. "Taran, cover us!"
They hit the stairs, taking out several surprised guards along the way. Kewell slid to cover at the top of the staircase, vaguely aware of several bullets hissing over and beside him. In his peripheral vision, Kewell saw the Sutherlands hit the windows at once, a hellish mixture of breaking glass and splintering wood. Bracing the wall with his shoulder, Kewell sprinted forward and shot a surprised guard in the head, point blank. He could hear Sato and Caitlyn shooting from behind him.
"Jeremiah! Status?" Kewell yelled, ducking down behind a counter. He dropped his empty clip and slammed a new magazine into place.
"They've broken their positions! Palmer's running decoy. We managed to track down the depot of Knightmares and we've got Valerio ready to blow them sky high. Once we're done there, I'll join you inside!"
We may already be done by then. These guards are sloppy. Kewell hopped out from behind his cover, spun around, and fired at two guards running at him from the adjacent hallway. They slumped to the floor after three shots. In the distance, he saw a heavy metal door and a circuit board.
"Elevator! That way!" Kewell announced. Quickly, Villetta and the others gathered around him and made a mad dash for the elevator, Sato providing cover fire. Villetta reached the elevator and quickly keyed in the floor as the others fired in all directions. His ears becoming numb to all the shooting, Kewell began to pick up different, discrete details: the sound of discarded bullets ricocheting across the floor, the static of radio chatter, the bright ding of the elevator.
Right. Elevator.
Kewell sprinted inside the elevator, feeling a bullet whiz past his shoulder. They were soon joined by Sato, Valerio, and Caitlyn, the latter of which tossed a grenade over her shoulder and into the room behind them. They heard the dull throb of the grenade exploding once the doors closed.
In the moment of precious privacy, the Purists took the time to reload.
"Anyone injured?" Villetta asked, drawing a shotgun from her waistband.
"I think they got my leg, but it's fine," Valerio said, wincing.
"Nothing too serious," Kewell muttered. His shoulder burnt slightly.
"Once we reach the floor, split up," Villetta quickly ordered. "Kewell and I will search the westernmost hallways; Sato, Valerio, easternmost. Caitlyn, guard the elevator."
"Yes," they said in relative unison.
The door slid open and the Purists spilled out. Wasting no time, Kewell turned left and saw five rooms on each side.
"Take the right doors, I'll take the left ones," Villetta said.
Kewell began methodically barging through each door, not willing to take longer than five seconds to search each room. Upon reaching the fifth door, he found an expansive bedroom, presumably for ambassadors who came to visit. He swept the room, strafing left and right, and once he looked out the window the earth and sky shook. The sudden quake caused Kewell to lurch forward; when he regained his balance, he saw. A terrible explosion had ruptured a wide outbuilding, taking a few dozen cars and Knightmares along with it.
"I'm gonna presume that was the Knightmare Depot?" Kewell muttered sardonically.
"I'm heading up!" Jeremiah shouted over the radio. "Notify me once you're close!"
Once Kewell exited back out into the hallway, he saw Villetta reloading. Before they had a chance to act, or even breathe, Caitlyn was running towards them.
"I told you to stay by the—" Villetta began.
"Sato found the General! This way!"
Kewell, ecstatic, sprinted forward, Villetta close on his heels. After turning left down a hallway and past a lounge, they were met by a steel door.
"There's probably people waiting behind that door," Kewell muttered, prepping his rifle.
"Blow the door," Villetta ordered to Caitlyn.
She nodded and quickly plastered a detonator-activated explosive on the door, which hummed with a low, resounding beat. Kewell took cover behind a desk, Villetta and Caitlyn braced their backs against the wall adjacent to the steel door.
"Detonating!" Caitlyn yelled.
An earsplitting boom, bright lightning engulfing the room, hearts racing. Villetta, Caitlyn, and Kewell began rapidly firing, sweeping the room with automatic fire in a hail of bullets and smoke. When the dust finally cleared, Kewell noticed the corpses of two guards and a very terrified General Bartley cowering beneath his desk, with a couple nicks on his arm. His normally-pristine General's uniform was an absolute mess; his back was against a broad, surprisingly intact window, which was like a panorama to all the violence and action going on below.
"Unbelievable!" Bartley began, furious but scared of his wits. "And you call yourselves loyalists!"
In Kewell's peripheral vision, he saw two figures step up beside him, guns raised: Sato and Valerio, with the latter leaning against the wall and trying to keep the bleeding on his leg from becoming serious.
Villetta had drawn a revolver from her belt and was pointing it at Bartley. "Caitlyn, Kewell. Guard the door."
"I will have you all personally executed," Bartley snarled. "Once the Prince hears about this—"
"The Prince isn't an issue anymore," ventured a crisp, baritonal voice. Kewell recognized it immediately as that of Jeremiah Gottwald, who stepped into the room carrying a pistol at his side. "He isn't in a condition to be the Viceroy, let alone make decisions regarding Area 11."
"He's currently doing some important business!" Bartley weakly managed. "If you'd only been patient, he would have returned in a clear state of mind!"
"I'm afraid that's simply not enough, Bartley," Jeremiah said. "It's a pity. You were a loyal man. Too loyal. Blind. Villetta, knock him out."
"You won't-! HCK!"
Bartley's passionate speech was interrupted when Villetta struck a pressure point on Bartley's neck with her index and middle fingers. The General gasped for breath for a few measly seconds before finally passing out; Kewell checked his pulse just to be certain. It was faint, but his vital signs were definitely stable.
Kewell wiped the sweat off his brow. "What now?"
"Have Palmer take care of any stragglers," Jeremiah commanded, placing his communicator on the Viceroy's desk. He looked exhausted and furious, but there was a deep-seated form of content and pleasure lurking behind his eyes. "Take Bartley in for questioning; anybody else that's alive, you can kill. I want to have this place completely cleared out by at least midnight. Let nobody in or out of this Palace. It's time Area 11 changed for the better."
[*****]
ASHFORD ACADEMY
"We interrupt this broadcast for an important news flash! We've received an emergency broadcast, and the source is implied to be directly from the Presidential Palace. Could it be Prince Clovis has returned? Or perhaps General Bartley Aspirus has news regarding that! Let's see what's contained within… it's Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald!"
"Attention, citizenry of Area 11. This is Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald of the Purist Faction, an elite gathering of soldiers, technicians, and politicians. Many of you know us as the organization that has rightfully served by Prince Clovis' side ever since his inauguration as Viceroy of Area 11. However, we have grim and unexpected news on that front: Prince Clovis remains vanished, and his whereabouts remain a mystery. We have listened thoroughly to the claims of the media, the suspicions of the people, and the theories of the Area 11 political minds, and we have regretfully decided to renounce Prince Clovis' title as Viceroy of Area 11, as per Article 74, Paragraph 58 of the Provisionary Britannian Constitution.
Without any immediate successors chosen by His Majesty, Our Emperor, to succeed Clovis as Viceroy of Area 11, given Prince Schneizel el Britannia and Cornelia la Britannia's involvement with the European Union, it falls upon us, the trusted advisors of Clovis la Britannia, to decide the rightful successor of Clovis la Britannia. I hereby declare the entirety of the Purist Faction as the rightful successor of Clovis la Britannia, Viceroy of Area 11, effective starting now! We will continue and honor the Prince's legacy, furthering his policies and instilling our own, in the best interests of the Area 11 people! Rest assured, this is not a Coup d'état, nor a revolution against the Holy Britannian doctrine or its beliefs and cultures, but merely an extended continuation of Our Empire's overall goal: To unite the world!"
Lelouch glanced at the helmet of Zero.
[*****]
BRITANNIAN SCIENCE BUNKER
The sound of Clovis la Britannia's angry footsteps slamming against the cool, metal floor echoed across the halls.
The now-outcast Prince was beyond furious; he was absolutely murderous, his eyes floating with incomprehension and disgust. He'd departed for a week or so, not even that, in a desperate attempt to find C.C. without arousing the suspicion of the public. Relying on the police would have been far too risky. To that end, he'd quietly retreated to the Sapporo Chemistry and Development Laboratory, which was generously (and secretly) funded by Britannian Energy (under duress and blackmail by Clovis), who had allowed him to perform the immortality experiments on that woman, C.C., in the first place. Before she got captured by the terrorists, that is.
And right when I thought my team had tracked her down, right when we were READY, that treacherous Gottwald dares to take my position, dares to threaten my pride?! I refuse to wait!
"Prince Clovis, Your Excellency, please wait!" A scientist whose name Clovis didn't care to remember came running down the white, Spartan hallways, followed by a team of interior guards. "Don't act hastily! All we need is a little time to make the final preparations. We think we've managed to track Lady C.C. down in the Narita Mountains. If you go back into the Settlement now, you'll-"
"This is a matter of reputation!" Clovis yelled. He was acutely aware of the group of scientists and soldiers at his heel, but none of that slowed his stride. "I'll be struck by lightning twice before I let an upstart like him take what's rightfully mine! I will not be forgotten like this! C.C. isn't going anywhere, so it can wait!"
"Your Excellency, please, you're not in your right mind now-!"
"Open your mouth to me again and I'll have you executed!"
Wisely, the faceless scientist shut up. They walk through a complex channel of doors and labs before Clovis finally found the one he wanted; he took out his credentials, sliding them through a reader, and opened the door, revealing an entrance area, complete with a massive lift. Standing near the lift controls was a singular soldier, looking nervous.
"I need a transport to Area 11, towards the Viceroy Palace. Don't waste any time! Make haste immediately!" Clovis barked.
"Your Majesty, I'm sorry, but they came in so quickly…"
What?! Clovis stopped dead in his tracks.
"It was like time itself stopped," the soldier continued mumbling.
"What are you talking about? Who? Are you daft?! We're fifty feet belowground! Nobody could find us here!" Clovis spat, the last of his patience and reasoning draining out.
"Unless they knew where they were going."
Clovis turned to see a man he hadn't noticed before… no, not a man, a young boy. He was quite young, with rose-pink eyes, curly brown hair, and a slim runner's build; Clovis suspected he was no more than a welterweight, although the body armor he had on bulked him up. This boy was quickly joined by about a dozen or so armed shock troops, all of them wearing blue jumpsuits with strange, yellow, bird-like sigils sewn at their chests.
Clovis shuddered. "Who the hell are you?"
"That doesn't matter. You're to come with me," he said, with an off-kilter, eerie calm about his voice. Like he was detached from reality itself.
"Do you have any idea you're speaking to?"
The boy paused and glared at him. "My name is Rolo Haliburton," he explained, slowly, drawing those first five words out. "And any work you've been doing here in Area 11? Invalid, as of tonight. You'll be transported on a plane headed for the Chinese Federation by dawn, so I suggest packing your things in advance."
NO! He can't be-!
"And in case you still aren't convinced," Rolo continued, pulling a seal out of his vest. "This should be enough proof."
Clovis took the symbol with trembling hands and nearly fainted on the spot.
The seal of the Emperor… It's official, I'd recognize it anywhere…
A tense, weighty silence filled the room.
"How did you—"
"Anything down here will be systematically and carefully destroyed the moment you leave this facility," Rolo continued, as if he was reading from a script. "No trace of its existence will be left. It will be as if it never even existed. You will be given shelter and new objectives in the Chinese Federation. Is that understood?"
"…"
"I'll take that as a yes. But just to be sure… Okay. Now look around you."
Tiredly, Clovis looked around…
…And was surprised to find almost everyone in the room dead, save for Rolo and his subordinates.
WHAT?!
Clovis screamed and flailed against the wall, his heart pounding against his chest, fingers digging into the wall until his knuckles were white, legs quivering and eyes twitching.
"Heh. Weren't expecting that, huh?" Rolo taunted, almost bragging about it, indifferent to the naked shock and fear on Clovis' face. "I think that's sufficient leverage, yes?"
Clovis sucked in several harsh breaths. "You killed them! They're all dead! How?! I saw you! You never even moved!"
"I didn't have to. Now come with me. Unless you want to suffer the repercussions of the Emperor himself."
