Guest – Even geniuses have lapses of human stupidity. We're all the same, ay?

Mar – You'll be missing out!

Suzululu4me – Enough pizza to feed a third-world country. Also, technically, Kaguya is the first canon character to meet Time Baron, but we'll get to that later. Also, Waka Flocka Flame's a rapper.

Chimera – Well…

Karyuu – It'll all come together. Don't worry.

Findarto – Things may change. Destiny is dynamic.

ChaosRune – That's very… presumptuous of you, to assume you know the direction my story's going to go. Buuuut that's fine – like with Mar, you'll be missing out! Fun times up ahead.

Thanks for being patient, everyone that's still following this story. Music, work, and theater have been consuming my time, but I should have some writing space coming up soon.

[*****]

Lelouch, standing atop a catwalk, arms folded over his chest, directed his gaze over the Black Knights Weapons Depot, an ominously-lit enclosure the size of an airplane hangar. Weapons, armor plates, supplies, and Knightmares were all stored in this place; it was one of the spoils of war, a former Refrain-storing warehouse that was just hidden away enough to act as a secondary base for the Black Knights. The ground floor was populated with Black Knights milling around and hurrying to their stations, bustling around like a tightly-packed bazaar, their movements and actions as noisy as a factory.

"Ohgi, make sure you all have your vests prepared," Lelouch said, regurgitating orders into a communicator. "Make sure Cells A, B, C, and E all have their own backup supplies ready in case. Did you receive the gridline I sent you?"

"Yeah..." Ohgi said, over the line. "How exactly are we going to set this up? Do you want me to take supporting point?"

"Yes. You're a gifted leader. My orders will be given out once we near the arena of action. I've already shown the focal strategic points to Naomi, Kallen, and Yoshida – they can show you."

"I… no, Tama—ugh, fine… I'll be back in a minute, Zero. I have to check on Tamaki's Burai."

"Alright. Be sure to thank Kyoto for those units, because they're willing to talk to you and not me." Which is a problem I'm going to have to remedy. If they want Japan to be free, truly free, they're going to have to be willing to play ball with me rather than beat around the bush.

"What do you think?"

C.C.: Lelouch had been so lost in thought he hadn't heard the woman approach. She stood beside Lelouch, looking over the rail with a look of pure, well-seasoned apathy. Below them, a handful of newbie units were doing some last-minute target practice using blanks, some misfiring, some deadly accurate.

"About what?"

"You've come far in the last couple of months. Look at all of this. You've even managed to make friends with some of the terrorist groups in Japan. You're prepared for the worst."

"What else is there to be prepared for?" Lelouch adjusted his cravat and grazed his hands over his pockets, making sure he had everything he needed.

"The best?"

Lelouch didn't reply. He heard the hum of a Burai Knightmare turning on.

"I have to thank Kyoto for giving us these supplies instead of the JLF," Lelouch said. "I wish they'd found a way to speak to me instead of Ohgi, but I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt."

"No matter how many friends you make, you will always have enemies, rivals."

"Mm. You're going to return to Ashford, yes?"

"I'd rather not. I want to take part in the mission."

Lelouch clenched his fist. "Any reason why? You've never come to any of the training sessions, never participated in any of the meetings, or any of the drug busts, for that matter. Have you even done anything?"

"I came to that one meeting with Kallen," C.C. bartered.

"You haven't done anything, and you have no experience."

"I can pilot a Knightmare."

"You should have said that when we went on a supply run. So, it's too late for that." Plus, I don't need you being caught by the military. That's bad news.

"I'm coming with you. I have to make sure you live. Otherwise, you can't fulfill your end of the contract."

Lelouch groaned. "Yeah, well, if you'd let me know what that end of the contract is, then maybe I could help you out on that end."

C.C. grew silent for a moment. "I'll tell you when the moment's ready."

"Well, if I'm going to 'die', then you might as well tell me now so I can help."

"I'll tell you when I'm ready."

Lelouch reached up to smack his forehead, before realizing he still had his helmet on.

"Do you want to die?" C.C. continued.

Lelouch shivered. "No."

"Sometimes it seems like it, when you put yourself in such dangerous situations."

"This is my job, C.C. Of course, it's dangerous."

"You don't have to throw yourself into battle like you do."

It's a matter of pride. "If a leader doesn't lead, then how can he expect his people to follow him?"

"It gives you a hard-on, doesn't it?"

"I'm not answering that. C.C., there's a difference between being prepared to die and wanting to die."

C.C. turned to face him, drawing Lelouch's attention away from the depot.

"I knew from the moment I started this whole revolution that it'd be dangerous. Of course it's dangerous. It's war! And I had to accept the possibility that someday, sometime, I might die in battle. I've accepted it, C.C. And I'm ready for the worst… but I'm still afraid of death. I don't want to die, not yet, not while I can still do something for this world."

"You aren't a soldier, Lelouch."

"No. I'm a revolutionary. A soldier defends – a revolutionary attacks."

"Mm. Same difference." C.C. began to walk off.

"Any words of wisdom?"

"Yeah. Don't die."

[*****]

THE SWORD OF AKASHA

The interior of the Sword of Akasha had undergone a complete makeover, at least in V.V.'s eyes. Massive slabs of stone were propped up against each other, encircling the exterior of the temple, which now looked more like a regal courthouse than a religious sanctuary. It reminded V.V. of ruins for some reason; whether that was a good thing or not was up to the whims of the future.

V.V. glanced at Charles. "Clovis reacted about how I expected he would, but he's complying. For now, anyway. The research he discovered about C.C. will help us. Plus, he looks like he'd be a good janitor."

Charles nodded and said nothing, staring at the endless expanses of sky that stood before him, as if they contained the secrets to life itself.

"You really ought to return to… being Emperor," V.V. advised. "You haven't made a public appearance for a long, long time."

Everyone in the Homeland had a theory – usually the most audacious possible – on why Emperor Charles wasn't fulfilling his duties as Emperor, why he was leaving said duties to his children, why he didn't take the wars going on around the world seriously (despite the fact that he personally ordered an enormous amount of troops to fight the E.U. in the first place), and none of those theories could be conclusively proven. V.V. had taken care to burn or remove any documents or physical evidence that might give away the secrets of the Geass Directorate, of Geass itself, so the web would probably never be unwound. Still, one could never be too careful.

"People have started talking," V.V. continued.

"That's all people seem to do," Charles muttered.

"You ought to return back to the Homeland, make a speech or something. Comment on the activity in Japan, the E.U. Ease people's suspicions."

"That would only arouse more suspicion in itself. The Ragnarok Connection and Jupiter Project are too important. If the maggots of this world want an answer so badly, they ought to find it themselves."

Oh, right. A lightbulb went up in V.V.'s head, and he took a seat on the ground, crossing his legs."That reminds me. I received some intel from some of the Directorate's missionaries. They've found more sites."

"Where?"

"Off the top of my head? Iceland. Africa. Central America. They have Geass marks, and they seem to have some sort of connection to Akasha."

Charles gave a rare smile. "It's about time. The last two sites in Asia yielded nothing."

"Agreed. I'll have to readjust the Prime Akasha Portal's parameters, set some of them closer to Iceland, et al. There's enough Akasha portals around the world – one of them should work."

"The promised time is close, brother. I know it."

V.V. smirked. "The world will never see it coming."

"The world is blind."

[*****]

VICEROY PRESIDENTIAL PALACE

It was just past 10 A.M. Viceroy Jeremiah Gottwald and Baron Kewell Soresi were playing cards in Jeremiah's office. Kewell said it was to pass the time, but both of them knew that was a lie. Between hands of blackjack, Jeremiah kept glancing at his handheld, waiting for a signal from Villetta. He'd gotten about two hours of sleep and it hurt his eyes to even look at the cards. They were betting using cigarettes – although Jeremiah didn't smoke, he knew that Kewell smoked like a fiend, and it was pointless to wager money. Jeremiah was winning.

Kewell looked at his hand quickly, scowling. "Why'd you give me such crap?" He put his cards on the table: 2 of Diamonds, 3 of Clubs. "Hit me."

"Luck of the draw, Soresi," Jeremiah muttered, pulling an Ace of Hearts.

"Seems like all we've been running on lately is luck. Hit me."

Jack of Clubs. Kewell sighed and slid two cigarettes Jeremiah's way. "Well, you remember what Colonel Gale used to say about luck, right?"

Kewell tried, badly, to hold back a laugh. "If you ain't got hope, and you ain't got shit, then luck will save your shit. What did he specialize in again?"

"Heavy Weapons, I think."

Kewell dealed out Jeremiah's cards from the dwindling deck. "That explains his porn stache."

Jeremiah laughed and looked at his cards. King of Diamonds, 8 of Spades. King… "Where do you think His Majesty has gone?" Jeremiah asked, careful to phrase his words.

"Not sure. Have you heard from Cornelia? She's the one that asked you do something in the first place."

"Not a single word. Not from Guilford, either. Makes you wonder what the hell they're doing in the E.U. at all. Stand."

Kewell nodded and looked at his own cards – 8 of Clubs, 3 of Diamonds. "Why exactly are we playing Blackjack without an actual dealer?"

"I hate poker," Jeremiah said, checking his handheld once again. "The only message I've really received is from Prince Schneizel. His Excellency said I made the right decision."

"He's busy doing his own thing as it is."

"Russia, right?"

"Yeah. You think we're in over our heads? Hit me."

Jeremiah slid a 2 of Hearts Kewell's way. "We've been in over our heads since day one. But we're doing what's right."

"Not sure if the Board will feel the same way, Jeremiah. Hit me."

6 of Diamonds. "All I have to do is mention Zero," Jeremiah said, his fingers clenching instinctively. "They'll endorse me then."

And once I find him, his execution's going to be legendary.

"And just like that, the whole world is looking for a pompous terrorist. Stand. I think I win."

"Yes, you got one more than me." Jeremiah slid more cigarettes Kewell's way. Jeremiah's handheld buzzed, and he felt his stomach clench in anticipation. Kewell, knowing what this meant, starting stacking the cards and shuffling his cigarettes back into their pack, save for one, which he lit. After reading over Villetta's text at least four times, Jeremiah stuffed his handheld back inside his chest pocket, ensuring his office was as neat as possible, ditto for his outfit. He glanced at himself in the mirror – he was wearing the same old Purist jacket and uniform he'd grown accustomed to, along with the typical, purple-gold Viceroy sash and pin. It almost reminded Jeremiah of the Aries Villa, when Lady Cornelia had promoted him to Enforcer of Security.

Today's just the beginning. We'll make this backwards island great, Lady Marianne. Just watch. Every grand design starts with a dream.

Jeremiah turned to Kewell. "Neat as a pin, Soresi. Let's go."

"Are you positive they're going to endorse our proposal?" Kewell asked, stepping outside the office into a pristine lounge, a lounge that had been riddled with bullets and fire a little under three months ago.

"If they know what's best for the world, they will." The two of them were quickly joined by Baroness Caitlyn and Baron Valerio, shadowed by a security detail of six or seven, all of them armed with rifles. "Hey. What's the status?"

"Sir. The Governor of Sendai just checked in and he's inside the Embassy Hall right now," Caitlyn said, adjusting her earpiece and gun. "That's about everyone, save for the Governess of Kurume. Internal troubles."

"So it's going to be a sausagefest, then," Jeremiah snarked. "How's it look outside?"

"We've got Teams A, B, and E on the Eastern wing, N, Z, and F on the North and South," Valerio asserted, as they loaded into the spacious elevator. "Sato's teams are taking care of the rest."

"Make sure nobody save for the Kurume woman enters into the room after Jeremiah, Villetta, and I do," Kewell ordered, stressing the importance of his command. "This is state business."

"You got it, Kewell," Caitlyn chirped. "Should we use Counterattack 1 or 2, should terrorists decide to cause trouble?"

"Depends on the situation. If terrorists intervene, I'll take care of it myself," Jeremiah boasted. The elevator touched down on the 4th Floor. He and Kewell walked out, turning to face the security detail. "You have your orders. History's going to be made today."

"Yes, my Lord," they all said in general unison. The elevator door closed. Villetta soon joined them – she looked harried, but professional and ready for anything.

"This is it, Jeremiah," Villetta muttered. "We're going to have to wow them."

"Expect nothing less. Let's go."

Jeremiah entered inside the Embassy Room. He had only really been inside this room twice – once to meet with the Head of Presidential Security, the other time to meet with the Chief Enforcer of the Area 11 Military Police. He'd rather enjoyed those meetings because they'd followed his orders and expectations with flying colors. This time, Jeremiah was completely prone to whatever the Board of Governors had to say. There was no certainty of victory.

Democracy is a joke. Since the Governess of Kurume had excused herself from the proceedings, there were only eight members in the attendance: the Governors of Sapporo, Hiroshima, the Fukuoka Settlement, Niigata, Sendai, Osaka, the Nagoya Settlement, and Nagasaki. They were a diverse mix of skin and hair colors, ages, body types, and demeanors, but they all shared one common trait – they were pure Britannians.

Hopefully that helps.

[*****]

Area 11 Airlines was a murderously crowded place – it was so different from the relatively low-key, unpopulated New City. The moment his plane touched down, Rolo was practically rushing to get out from the bottled-in air of the Russian Airliner that transported him here, making his way down to the end of the A11 Airline concourse like a man on the run. He took the time to open his wallet and examine his fabricated ID.

Rolo Ohtani. Age 18. Born in Nagoya to a Japanese mother and Chinese father, June 5th. Even if Rolo had lived in virtual secrecy his entire life – he had practically no records to speak of thanks to V.V. – his superiors had deemed it necessary for him to discard the role of Rolo Haliburton and become Rolo Ohtani instead. By the end of tonight, Rolo Haliburton would have been nothing more than a rumor; even his Homeland ID number was purged, replaced with a Britannian-issued Area 11 code instead. None of this particularly bothered Rolo - he went where he was told to go, did what he was told to do.

Although I did prefer my last name.

With a sacred moment of privacy, Rolo fished out his cellphone and dialed a familiar number, checking the little bar at the top of the screen to see if he'd gotten any new orders. None so far, but he decided to report to V.V. anyway.

Two rings, and V.V. was on the other line. "Hello, Ohtani. How's Area 11?"

"I've arrived safely," Rolo continued, lowering his voice to a whisper – it came out hoarser than he'd expected; he hadn't opened his mouth in hours. "Do you want me to take a shuttle to the Tokyo Settlement?"

"Yes, of course. Sending some of our agents to pick you up would have been too suspicious as it is."

You may be overestimating the degree to which people care. "Understood. I will report in once I'm within the Tokyo Settlement and I find a place of residence."

"Do so."

[*****]

EMBASSY ROOM, VICEROY PRESIDENTIAL PALACE

Kewell really wanted a smoke. It was against policy to smoke whenever guests came over to the palace, and Kewell opted to abide by that rule, begrudgingly so. He still wanted a fucking smoke, and it befuddled Kewell why the Governors of Osaka and Fukuoka were allowed to freely smoke but he wasn't. Still, Jeremiah had insisted.

"Gottwald, can you try to explain your proposal a little more succinctly?" the Governor of Sendai –whatever his name is – asked, steepling his hands.

"Of course," Jeremiah managed. "I propose that we dispose of the Honorary Britannian system, removing any Elevens and Honorary Britannians from the military. Ever since the system was implemented, Elevens have been taking advantage of all of its benefits, even if they haven't earned the right to those benefits."

"Why do you want to have it removed, Gottwald?" Sapporo put in, fussing with his glasses.

"Because the system itself, with all due respect, is broken. Heavily broken. The Elevens that have applied for the system aren't using it to achieve any good – they're using it to further themselves, using it to siphon money away from the Britannians that rightfully work for and earn that money."

"And what if we didn't have this system? The Elevens would potentially riot," Sapporo countered.

Jeremiah waved that away. "They'd riot if we removed the system, they'd riot if we kept it. Those people are never pleased."

"The Honorary Britannian system benefits Area 11's economy to some extent," Nagasaki threw in, smacking his colorless lips. "They're willing to work for low pay. Do you know how many Honorary Britannians wind up working in construction? Factory production?"

"There are ordinary Elevens that apply for those jobs as well. Or we could conscript them, force them to work."

"The public wouldn't react very positively to that, Gottwald," Sapporo put in.

"The Honorary Britannian system has more uses than just recruiting Eleven labor," Hiroshima mentioned. "It helps appease the general Eleven public."

God damn cowards. This is going to take all day. Clovis, being a Prince, could have made any decisions he damn well pleased – the Council's purpose was to advise him and meet with him about plans they had for their individual districts. Jeremiah wasn't a Prince, however, and any major, city-altering decisions he made had to be approved by the Council, which annoyed the both of them to no end.

I want a smoke.

"Are you sure that… given the recent terrorist activity, it would be wise to remove this system, Jeremiah?" Osaka spoke up, after having stayed quiet.

"Jeremiah", huh?

At this, Jeremiah brightened. A chance to present his main argument. "Yes, I have considered that, Governor Whitley. And I have it planned out. I met with my Chief Enforcer – my legitimate one, you understand – some weeks ago, to discuss how Kewell, Villetta, and I wanted to handle the distribution and handling of our Military Police forces. We unanimously decided to focus our efforts more on hunting down the terrorist cells spread throughout Japan instead of day-to-day, petty crime."

"Terrorists can become involved in day-to-day, petty crime," Nagoya mentioned.

"If you destroy the core, the system fails," Villetta said, her eyes pointed to the ceiling.

"Precisely," Jeremiah mentioned. "Ever since the introduction of Zero, the general Eleven populace – not just the terrorists – have been getting cockier, feeling like they can stand up to us, rebel against us. Disrespect is intolerable – they need to be taught discipline."

"Zero is… a problem, admittedly," Fukuoka muttered. "And terrorism has increased by… nineteen percent, given recent events."

"And it's all because of his involvement. A masked bastard has the guts to stand up to one of Britannia's own Princes—"

Former Prince.

"—and the people that support him think they can suddenly walk on water, like the world belongs in their hands. They need to remember who's in power here. You're all Governors, respectable gentlemen in positions of high power. You have earned the right to lead your cities and districts. You can't honestly tell me that the words of a dancer in a mask is enough to shake you, can you?"

Shaken by Jeremiah's words, Osaka seemed to be deep in thought.

"I can't fault your logic, Jeremiah," Niigata muttered. "But I have to question the legitimacy of this decision."

"Actually, I can see where he's going, somewhat," Hiroshima popped up, flipping through a notebook. "If Zero and his 'Black Knights' become stronger by the day, then more Elevens might start using the Honorary system to aid him."

"Yes," Jeremiah proclaimed, his eyes lit with potential victory. "He obviously has illicit sources and sympathetic elements helping him out. Whom else would have the access to the supplies he's able to get than Honorary Britannians? After all, Honorary Britannians are given the same basic citizenship as ordinary, pure Britannians."

At that moment, the power shifted to Jeremiah. He'd found the magic word, the Open Sesame. A feeling of excitement rose up in Kewell's stomach.

"Come to think of it—"

Kewell tuned out the words of whomever was speaking, because he felt his communicator buzz. Villetta glanced sidelong at Kewell, and silence filled the room.

"Give me a moment," Kewell muttered, making his way out. "Keep talking."

In the hallway outside, Kewell brought the radio to the side of his face. "Report."

A crackle of static, and then Caitlyn's voice came through. "Kewell, we—" More static.

What the hell. "Caitlyn, repeat that. I can't understand you."

"—Easternmost and the—the 4th units aren't—wait for-!" Each pause was accentuated by a burst of static, and then eventually Kewell couldn't hear a damn thing.

What.

Shaken, he tried to radio Caitlyn again. No answer. Kewell rushed back inside the room, signaling to Villetta. She got up, tried to seem as unassuming and unalarmed as possible.

"Kewell, is something wrong?" She whispered, seriously.

"I got word from Caitlyn," he whispered back. "Her radio died."

"What? The batteries in those things should be fresh."

"They are. I have a feeling something went wrong with our communication lines."

"Then Sato and Caitlyn should have already sent somebody in to—oh no, are you-?"

"Yeah," Kewell choked out.

"Is something the matter?" Fukuoka spoke up, sucking on that damn cigarette.

"Potentially," Kewell muttered.

Jeremiah immediately rose from his seat. "Kewell, what-?"

"Something's wrong, Jeremiah. Get them into the saferoom."

Jeremiah turned to the seated governors. "Gentlemen, Baron Soresi has advised that we relocate to another position for the time being."

"What happened?" Hiroshima responded, looking white as ash.

"We don't know. But until we do, please—"

CRA-KOW!

An enormous screen of light filled the room, and an earsplitting punch of noise filled the entire room. Kewell was lifted off his feet, and his mind went blank when he felt the hollow of his back hit the floor. Someone fell on his legs, awkwardly so, and the ringing in his ears was all-consuming. The only thing he heard and felt was the rapid beating of his heart. He heard a loud shout, something that sounded like his name, and slowly he regained his vision.

Wicks of smoke were everywhere, giving the room a distinctly charred smell. The room was a confusion of bodies and tables and chairs; Kewell damn near tripped on a foot, a head. His teeth clenched with pain, Kewell did a quick once-over of the room. He found that a few of the Governors were trying to get back onto their feet; Villetta was pulling Jeremiah upright, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. There was an enormous hole in the wall.

God damn.

"Is everyone alright?!" Kewell roared, barely able to hear his own voice.

"Come on!" Villetta shouted back.

"We have to get out of here!" Jeremiah replied; he seemed dazed, disordered, hobbling towards the door. "Help the Governors if you can!"

SHIT!

"No, wait! Everybody find some cover!" Kewell replied; he saw the very distinct shape of a Knightmare fill the hole in the wall. A storm of bullets began strafing the walls of the room, the sheer weight of the Knightmare ammunition causing Kewell to tumble forward. He managed to crawl out of the room with Jeremiah's assistance.

The Governors were either dead or passed out. There was no time. Only action.

Wasting no time, Kewell hobbled to his feet and sprinted for the nearest staircase, heading towards the first floor, Jeremiah and Villetta hot on his heels. The sound of war was everywhere; even if most of it was outside, Kewell could just feel it.

Villetta fished out her own radio. "If anybody can hear me, this is Baroness Nu! We don't know the current status of the Governors, but they appear to have been wiped out! We are headed towards the weapons bed, to find the backup Knightmares!"

Adrenaline and survivalistic fear propelling them forward, Kewell barely remembered the trip to the weapons bed; he was actually shocked that he'd gotten there so fast, or if his mind was just playing tricks on him. It didn't matter – towards the back were a series of Sutherlands. He saw Jeremiah and Villetta up ahead racing towards the Sutherlands.

"Is this Zero?!" Kewell gasped, hastily trying to climb inside one of the Knightmares.

"Undoubtedly!" Jeremiah spat, already starting his own Frame up. "How the hell did he manage to make it past our defensive perimeter?!"

Kewell quickly keyed in his password and inserted his Drive key. The hum the Knightmare made once it booted up was one of the sweetest sounds he'd ever heard. He saw a hundred tiny lights brighten the control panel of the Sutherland. Two digital screens appeared at Kewell's sides; he saw the harried faces of Villetta and Jeremiah on the displays.

"We're closest to Valerio's units!" Jeremiah barked, surging forward. "Regroup with them!"

Kewell grasped the joysticks and joined Jeremiah; the moment they entered outside, Kewell wished he'd stayed indoors. It was a hive of activity, confusion, and chaos. A huge mass of soldiers were scaling the length of the catwalks that adorned the defense towers, trying to shoot back at the invaders. The invaders in question had breached the defensive perimeter – the invader models were unmistakably Burais.

So they've stepped up their game.

"Jeremiah," Kewell muttered.

"No doubt," Jeremiah responded, turning on his transmitter. "Zero!"

A synthesized voice soon responded.

"None other, Gottwald! This is the end of you!"