Proctor of the Twilight Empire

by Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo

After Japan fell, an embittered Lelouch used his cunning and influence to start building his army; restarting the Ashford Foundation, gathering the support of Kyoto, and finding allies in the downtrodden nations subjugated by Britannian Imperialism. But the Emperor is no fool; he knows Lelouch is behind the sudden rise of Ashford, and the dangerous attention they're gathering.

2. The Prisoner, Act 1, Turn 2

Proctor of the Twilight Empire
The Wolf Returns, Wearing the Skin of a Sheep
Turn 2
Weren't it for the Shackles that Drag me Back

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'It came as a shock to most when he came out of the private jet, his head held high and flanked by two guards. He was, in a word, refined. I still remember when he looked me in the eye; his stunning violet eyes just froze me in my place. Now that I look back on it, I realise that it was nothing more than a childish crush of a teenage girl. You see, at the time I was just an intern at The Pendragon Courier, one of the many prestigious news networks in Britannia in those days. We'd received an anonymous tip that a very important person was to be landing at Pendragon International Airfield. When he had walked off the plane we had all but ambushed him, but I was confused. I didn't know who this boy –nay, young man- was, but the older Mister Smithson, the reporter I was stationed with, knew who he was immediately. "Prince Lelouch-" he'd muttered, and my eyes turned as wide as saucers. A prince?! And that was when his eyes locked with mine, the icy violet orbs making me weak in the knees. He was simply stunning,'

-Lucy Holledge, 'The Black Dawn Rising; A Biography', Published 2075 A.T.B

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Lelouch Lamperouge
August 25th, 2015 A.T.B.
Saint Augustus Avenue, Tokyo Settlement

With every inch of my now aching body, I cursed his seemingly infinite pools of stamina. He leapt and bound through the jungle, his charge resting tightly on his back, her faint, careless giggles punctuating the otherwise noiseless environment. Ragged gasps cascaded through my overstrained body, fire spewed through my muscles. I swore, when I caught up to that little runt, I'd give him hell.

"What's takin' ya', Lelouch?" He cried out after me, his above par English heavily accented with an undeniable Japanese tone; taunting me from my position behind him. I growled under my breath, only for it to come out as a wheeze of sorts. Damn that jock-head! "We only went for a five kilometre jog, you can't possibly be tired yet!" He taunted, though to him I suppose it would have been just a light-hearted jeer. Regardless, I swore to whatever god out there I would bring him off his high horse. The little girl hanging from his back gave another giggle, pulling herself as tight to the boy's back as physically possible.

"Come on Brother! We're nearly there!" She called back, and I was briefly torn from my curses. With a renewed stamina –at least for the next hundred metres or so- I ran after them, the promise of this dreadful activity finally coming to an end driving me forward.

We broke through the thick forest thicket and into a clearing, my ragged gasps for air melding with the serene lapping of water. The crisp air left a salty taste to my mouth. With every light gush of warm wind came a sheen of moisture on my skin. The rustle of leaves as the ocean breeze bushed against the thicket, and the endless blue and green ocean stretching from this speck of lush, grassy cliff was enough to drain the fatigue from my body; it was beautiful. I moved over to the edge, resting my small body against the thin wooden fence, peering down to the bottom of the cliff where the serene waters crashed against the jagged rocks less than a hundred metres below.

"Where are we, Suzaku?" Nunnally asked behind me, a contented smile on her face, "Are we at the ocean?"

"Uh huh!" He nodded in affirmation, looking about with smug satisfaction, "This is a little spot I found a few years back."

"Well, it's very beautiful" The young girl responded, beaming at the boy, "Thank you for bringing us here."

I kept watching the waters below, the hypnotic crash, lull, and retreat of water entrancing me. The serenity was broken, though, when a sense of impending danger washed over me. I searched the waters for something, anything that may have set off my senses. There wasn't anything I could see, only the specks of islands in the distance. "It's not a problem Nunnally," Suzaku replied, his voice slightly higher, evidence to the slight blush he inevitably had. He must've noticed my discomfort, because he moved over to my side. "What's wrong?"

I didn't know how to respond. There wasn't anything wrong, per say; just a feeling. Before I could respond, Suzaku jumped onto the railing, confusion plastered on his soft, childish face. "What're those?" He asked, finger outstretched, indicating the silhouetted specks I'd assumed as islands.

"They're not islands?" I asked, confused slightly.

"Not unless they were formed in the past year," Was his answer.

Still unsure, I watched the specks intently. Without a doubt, they were moving; the posts in the fence gave a good reference for that.

"Is there something wrong, brother?" My sister asked from behind me. Turning to her, I put my sincerest smile on my face.

"No, nothing's wrong at all. Just saw something off the side of the cliff is all." It was small, but after years of watching, I knew how to spot her pout anywhere. Guilt wracked my heart as I realised my blunder, "We just saw some specks and couldn't figure out what they were."

"What is that?!" Suzaku shouted, and I spun on my heels. A glint streaked through the sky, a plume of white streaking behind it. A faint roar permeated the air as we watched the object break the sound barrier. I wracked my mind for an answer to my friend's questions, sorting through the possibilities. Where had I seen this before? Schneizel's lectures on the military came to mind. What could it be though? I watched as the object drew closer, the roar louder; a cruise missile.

"Get down!" I screamed, jumping to the ground painfully as the missile drew near. Suzaku dived for the ground, bringing Nunnally to the fore to protect her. An ear splitting roar filled the air as the rocket soared overhear, my ears ringing as it zoomed past. I looked up, watching as the missile streaked through the air, the tail of white smoke trailing dutifully behind it. About twenty seconds later, it collided with its target.

As the initial shock subsided, I lifted myself wearily from the ground. Smoke filled the air, and the undeniable hues of orange flames still danced in the air. From my guess, the impact wasn't too far away; five kilometres, maybe. Wait! Five Kilometres? Dread filled my gut as I mulled it over. I regained my bearings, remembering the path just taken. But that meant that it hit-

"Dad!" The Japanese boy cried, rushing into the jungle with a quivering body, Nunnally left lying on the ground crying.

I awoke with a start, the gentle rumble of an engine accentuated the air. My head rested against a comfortable leather headrest, and my thin body sunk into the plush luxury seats. My neck was stiff, and with a painful roll, I stretched the muscles. The booth was lightly lit, warding off the pitch black night outside. High rise structures flitted by as the vehicle rushed along the barren highways of the metropolis. The governor's palace stood at the centre of the urban thrall, an ever vigilant warden amongst the rowdy barbarians and concrete carcasses surrounding the supposedly utopian society of the Tokyo settlement. It was detestable. It was also a little odd that we would be driving along such a main arterial road and not a single other vehicle was around, even at this time of night.

My vision shifted to the other end of the booth, where the blonde knight who'd seen fit to capture me sat, talking in hushed tones to a radio receiver, no doubt briefing the pilot that would drag me back to Pendragon. I scowled vehemently at the thought; what purpose does bringing me back serve, outside of serving the Emperors sick amusement? I had outlived my use as soon as he sent me to Japan as a political hostage. Without any knowledge, I had no idea what way to proceed, something I'd rather fix, and the only one with any information right now is the lovely miss Kruszewski.

"I couldn't imagine that Clovis was too happy with Charles personal forces marching into his state; knowing him, he'd take it as a lack of confidence in his rule," I prodded, eliciting a vaguely surprised response from the knight, "Or perhaps, you failed to mention your arrival."

"Ah, you're awake; good," Miss Kruszewski shifted from her position, facing me directly now, "No, Clovis is unaware of our presence here. The OSI has been covering our trails as we go."

Good, she wasn't censoring or withholding information. "So what does our illustrious emperor want with me; I thought that I was dead to him," I seethed, sarcasm dripping from my tone

Miss Kruszewski pondered on this slightly, not at all taken aback by my offensive tone. "I don't know why he would want you back; he made it clear as day that you were not wanted at all. Perhaps he regrets his decision to send you?" I was about to cackle in laughter at the absurdity, but Miss Kruszewski beat me to the point with a light sigh, "Though that's not very likely. I've known the man for well over a decade, and I have not known him to regret any decision he's made; it's more likely he just wants another plaything." She replied, her face as stern as ever, though her tone uplifted with the slightest twang of light-hearted jest.

"He has always taken a certain joy in toying with his own children," I remarked, more to myself than anyone else.

"Yes, but none more than you and sweet Nunnally. Maybe Marrybelle, though she wasn't exactly thrown to the curb," It was extraordinarily difficult, but the tell-tale signs of sadness seeped onto her face, something that made my frigid demeanour melt slightly. Her rigid features slanted into a scowl, "But I think you should worry more about the nobility; they will probably throw a fit when they find out you were alive."

I rolled my eyes, looking out the window once more, "I'm sure the nobility will have a field day with my return to court. Knowing them, they'll do everything in their power to remove the blight on the royal family; no place for commoners amongst blue bloods after all."

Miss Kruszewski nodded in agreement, frowning as she thought it through. "The royal court will likely try to have you tried and executed; likely for desertion, dereliction of duty, treason or some half-hearted excuse like that."

I was about to reply when the screen behind her head slid open, revealing a rather discreet looking driver. "We've arrived at the dock, Miss Kruszewski." She nodded, removing her seatbelt and exiting the vehicle.

As I stepped out of the beautiful limousine, the reek of fish, petrol, and salt assault my nose. I wrinkled it in an effort to block out the putrid stench. The usual grind of machines and clank of gears were absent in the wake of the early morning. The plain, grey concrete of the dock and steel of the warehouses was a bitter sight, only the occasional oil spill breaking up the monotony. Puddles of water and spilt petrol glistened in the night, the moon shining radiantly upon the bleak surface. Cargo containers with unknown contents littered the floor, the dull red and green blotched by rust and mossy build-up. How a place with no walls could feel like a prison, I don't know.

"We'll be boarding the Neptune's Gaze, an OSI frigate disguised as cargo a hauler." Miss Kruszewski started, directing me towards the beat up hauler in dock, the thick, motley ropes tethering the ship to the dull concrete slab, "Once we leave Area Eleven waters, we'll board a VTOL aircraft back to Pendragon."

I sighed in defeat, turning my head back to the Settlement, gazing upon the appallingly grand structure that happily sat atop and in the midst of a city's carcass. I felt almost sick, thinking of being trapped in the gilded halls of the palace, forced to endure the banquets paid in blood by people just like those who'd dragged me through the war intact, chuckling under a thinly veiled threat as I tread upon those who'd fought and lost to a militant monarch. My life was basically forfeit. Deep down, I knew it was Nunnally who I am worried about. She is undoubtedly safe with the Ashford's; they hadn't sold me out before, so it's safe to assume they wouldn't sell her out either. The realisation didn't make me feel much better, though. I'd be leaving her to live her life without me, something that broke my heart.

"Is everything alright, Lelouch?"

"Just thinking; I didn't get to say goodbye to my friends, or give my thanks to Mister Ashford." I replied, shifting my attention back to her. "I barely had time to sneak in to gather my belongings," I explained.

Miss Kruszewski nodded in understanding, collecting my luggage from the chauffeur, and motioning towards the ship. "I know it's bad now, but the sooner we play your father's game, the sooner you can get back to living a normal life." She paused, mulling over the statement curiously, before cracking a small smile, "Or rather, as normal as a nearly fifteen year old manager of a global arms manufacturer can have."

"Come along; let's head off." I nodded, following behind her as I marched into my steel cage.

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Codename: Yaoling
August 25th, 2015 A.T.B.
LOCATION UNKNOWN

With a sickening, wet crack, another fist collided with my face, smashing my head back into the steel chair frame. A small yelp left my mouth as sharp pain cascaded through my system. I fought to retain consciousness as my bruised, bloodied face screamed for relief from the throbbing pain. Blood filled my mouth as I bit my tongue and cheek with every wicked punch. My cheeks burned as they bruised and bled– the molten liquid dribbling from the splits in my skin, trickling down my face in torturously slow streams. The sharp, metal cuffs binding me to my seat dug into my flesh, tearing the coarse flesh from the muscle in agonising pain, my own writhing only making it worse. Blood trickled from the lengthy gashes marring my skin, the ragged flesh ripping with every painful spasm I made. Pain came with every small, shallow breath I took, my throat ran raw from every pained scream forced from my lips. With every slight jitter of my jaw, sharp, stabbing pain flooded my system; my heart sunk as I realised the bone must've been splintered.

I don't know how long I'd been here, or how long it has been since I was moved from the barbaric prison hospital to this torture chamber; all I know is if they kept this up, I wouldn't be able to retain consciousness much longer; I'd lost too much blood, and taken too much damage to continue.

Two men sat in front of me, both dressed in the grey uniform of the Office of Secret Intelligence; I'd run into them more than enough to recognise them. The first man was a brute, standing well over six feet tall, filled to the brim with rippling, solid muscle. His uniform was tight to his body, and gave every movement he made its respected time in the limelight. He spoke with an arrogant flair, enough pomp in his voice to choke an elephant. Some sort of flamboyant, aristocratic skin head; probably didn't have enough brain cells to share with an amoeba. I glared through swollen, half-lidded eyes at the man, him being responsible for the last punch I'd received, though my wrathful gaze felt weak even for me. The other man was a long, lanky man with a cleanly shaved, polished head, a grave expression permanently etched onto his old, wrinkled face. I sneered at him, baring my teeth at the man; the dunce may have been hitting me, but this bastard was far worse.

The appalling man sat behind muscle-head, playing with his toys. Cattle prod, truth serums, irons being heated to red hot on a hot plate, hessian sacks and jugs of water, rusted knives. To the side of the dank room sat a trough filled with water. Only thing missing was an iron maiden. The burly brawn drew his arm back for another punch, and my body flinched unwittingly as it prepared for another beating.

"Stop, Thaddeus; he'll fall unconscious before much longer." The voice was repulsive, a disgusting droll that felt both pompous and slimy. He approached my chair, arms clasped tightly behind his back as though he had even a shred of discipline and honour. He brought his face to mine, his beady little eyes watching gleefully as I shrivelled my face in disgust. "You've done well to stay awake as long as you have, you filthy Asian mutt, but unfortunately I'm running out of time to play." His tone was lecherous, and I fought the urge to spit at him; the blood would give his pasty pallor some colour. His disgusting grin fell from his face as he whipped his hands around my side, gripping onto my worn wrists. His talon like nails slipped into my wounds, digging around the broken, swollen flesh. A gasp slipped my throat as the pain overwhelmed me. He dug around through the many gashes and crisscrossed wounds, slipping his fingers deeper and deeper into my arm with every painful, excruciating, agonising movement. "Now, little mutt, tell us; who sent you to assassinate the Knight of Seven, and how did you lure him down into the old dungeon?" The words were a harsh whisper, and felt none less filthy. His fingers rubbed deeper with every word. Bile rose into my mouth as I whimpered, the pain numbing me to anything but it. I clamped my jaw and eyes shut, willing nothing to come spilling out as I wracked my brain, searching desperately for the answer, only for my body to scream out for me to please stop the pain!

"That will be enough, Lord Burrows." The voice was smooth as silk, well groomed to be most appealing to the ears; a diplomat, if I had to guess. The sickening man harrumphed at the intrusion, but nonetheless backed away. A wave of relief washed over me as he withdrew his filthy, mangled nails from my arm. I let out a shaky, uneven breath, gasping for air; I must've forgotten to breath. I cracked open my eyes, the swelling almost sealing my right eye shut. My vision was blurry; tears, blood and sweat made sure of that. My saviour was dressed in long, white coat, trimmed with gold, covering a regal purple shirt, his long blonde hair flipped flamboyantly to the side. A gentle smile was settled on his face, but his sharp blue eyes dared anyone to disobey him; a Prince. He watched me, considering me for the briefest moment, before his gaze fixed upon my captors, his face still elegantly poised in an oddly paradoxical, pleasantly neutral expression. "Please release his hand cuffs," When the guards hesitated for a moment, the prince pressed further, "I'd prefer to have a civilised discussion with our guest while I'm here."

Knowing they couldn't argue the man's order, they came over and released my sharp, metal bonds. I fought back the urge to weep in relief. The Prince took a seat at the plain, steel table in the centre of the chamber, indicating for me to join him. Gathering my dignity, I lifted myself from my chair, carefully disguising my quivering, shaky legs as I hefted my seat along with me, ignoring my jailors in favour of the prince. I seated myself modestly, trying as I might to exude my own aura of grace. We sat in stark silence for a few brief moments, silently examining one another; he was up to something, anyone with a mind of their own could see that. His personal aide gave a small cough, breaking the tense stare down. "Ah, I apologise, Mister Shen, I didn't come here to sit here in silence" He answered, and I cracked my eyes open slightly; how did he know?

As if to answer my query, the aide handed a bundle of papers to the Prince, which he skimmed over briefly, before setting them on the table just in front of me. I eyed the papers suspiciously, watching for any offensive action against me. I only found the prince giving me an encouraging look. Taking up the papers in shaky, tortured hands, I scanned them. My heart sunk. My picture was clipped to the left hand side, my navy blue, almost black eyes glaring back at me, shrouded by the shaggy black hair covering my face.

Operating Codename: Yaoling

Name: Shen, Lucas

Birthdate: 21/02/2002

Ethnicity: Chinese\Norwegian

Nationality: Chinese

Height: 146cm

Weight: 44kg

Active Years of Service: 9

The list went on, detailing me and my many exploits taken in the name of the Chinese Federation. Despair flooded me as I came to the stark realisation; they'd sold me out. The Prince gave me a sad gaze, attempting to display a faux empathy as he watched me. "We approached the Chinese Federation about you. It was actually remarkably difficult, not knowing your name. Eventually they gave us all they had, but refused having any involvement with your current operation. Considering that they gave us your entire profile, I am inclined to believe them." When I remained quiet, the Prince continued on, "They even provided the files they had on your sisters; they suggested we keep an eye out for them."

I fought the urge to perk up and give the Prince any sort of indication. Never show weakness, lest others abuse it after all, a lesson I'd learnt many times. Besides, they can take care of themselves; I chanted that to myself. I lifted my gaze to the Prince, my face set in neutrality. "Do what you will."

The words were mere croaks, my parched throat raw, and my voice scratchy. I dropped my dossier on the table -bloody fingerprints smudged across the paper- and slid it over to the Prince. He seemed mildly surprised, both in that I had finally talked, and in my words. It was the slightest hint, but I noticed it; a frown. He hid the action well, using a saddened expression to quickly cover the omission. "I truly wish we could leave them alone, but it has been decided that they may be a threat to the security of the royal court." Or likely that he had, if his previous expression was anything to go by.

Realizing that he wasn't going to get anything out of me, he got up and made his way for the door, his personal aide accompanying him after he'd recovered the documents. "A pleasure talking to you, Mister Shen. I do hope they aren't too zealous," were his last words to me, not that I cared much. The supposedly empathetic prince had just condemned me to torture. A loud thump reverberating through my shoulder only emphasised this. With a sense of dread, I turned to face the owner of the hand, finding myself face to face with a repugnant, wrinkled man, grinning maniacally at me. He brought his hand up, a long, black cattle prod gripped tightly in his hand. With a flick of his finger, a crackle of electricity fizzled at the end. The next thing I knew, every cell in my body was lit on fire. I screeched in pain as my body lit up. The saliva in my mouth boiled. My arms burned. My mind frayed. My body was wracked with spasms. My heart stuttered. I grasped anywhere and everywhere in desperate hope of something, anything. My vision faded.

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Monica Kruszewski
August 28th, 2015 A.T.B
Imperial Palace, Pendragon

He was tense; no doubt about it. He wore nothing but the slacks and shirt he'd been dressed in as we took him from the research facility. His hair was in slight disarray, and he was looking positively gaunt and pale, his already thin stature almost squeezing against his bones. He looked exhausted; the dark rings under his eyes a dead giveaway. All in all, he was sufficiently ill equipped to be standing before the reigning monarch of a third of the world.

The court was absent in the mid-morning, the only company we had before the imposing sight of his Excellency being the knight of one, Bismarck. The light of the morning peaked through the massive stained glass windows, glittering along our immaculate white uniforms, their lapels accentuated with golden trim. The emperor wore his usual garb as well, the royal purple overcoat emblazoned with gold. By all means, the boy was so incredibly underdressed by the standards of present company that it would have been embarrassing had anyone else been around to see it. He didn't back down though, he stood as proud as he had five years prior, a mature and dignified air about him far more senior than his youth should allow.

Charles wore an amused smirk on his broad features, his normally heavy, dark purple eyes lit with a smug glee. He sat comfortably on his golden throne, reclining into the plush crimson pillows like a lazed cat, toying with its meal.

"Lelouch" Charles greeted, his rich baritone flaked with hints of sadistic gaiety. He rose from his dais; an imposing sight in all his glory, his grin diminished none. Lelouch remained unfazed, staring the surly man straight in his sharp, violet eyes.

"Charles" He greeted, seething the words as his father stood just before him.

Charles cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the audacity of the boy, and amused nonetheless. "Is that any way to speak to your father?" He jested, and Lelouch's frown deepened for a split second, before his face settled to neutrality.

"Oh, you're my father?" He jabbed, a delicate mask of indifference settled onto his features, "I thought the errant rumour was that I am the illegitimate child of the devil himself, though I do suppose that isn't too far from the truth," he added, shrugging to himself slightly.

I resisted a snort as I held in my laughter. The boy had spunk, no doubt. "Do you normally speak to those with the power to grant you amnesty in such a way?" Charles questioned, his grin slightly wider.

Lelouch snapped back instantly, his wit at the fore once more. "No, but I do talk to my supposed father like this; it is a family tradition, or so I am led to believe. I wouldn't know for certain, seeing as you killed them all." He emphasised the accusation with every nonchalant word, his stance relaxed as though he were having an everyday conversation.

This time, Charles let loose a mighty bellow, laughing heartily and deeply at the audacity of his child. "You have always had a loose tongue, boy!" The Emperor roared between deep, unsettling chuckles.

Lelouch had no difficulty retaining his mask, sneering as he replied. "Certainly didn't inherit it from you, else it would be a loose belt rather than tongue." Even Bismarck appeared to be straining to hold in his laughter.

"Do you really wish to die that badly, boy?" The threat was anything but idle, though the smirk Charles still wore could have easily fooled anybody that didn't know him.

"You said it yourself; I never lived in the first place. Why grovel to keep something I never had?" He retorted, his glare as prominent as ever, his proud demeanour unfaltering. Charles gave a pleased nod to the boy.

"You've certainly learnt," His smirk left his lips, a serious demeanour replacing the jovial one with artful skill. "Where is Nunnally, Lelouch?"

I gasped as he asked the million dollar question, the previously amusing atmosphere vanished in its entirety, replaced by a chilled, severe air that threatened to choke the life out of us. I'd wondered the exact same thing, though had the tact not to pry. "She's not here anymore, not that you would care. She was useless and expendable, remember? Dead weight." Lelouch replied, his eyes dead, hollow, lost in thought. He wore a pained expression, and he slouched under an imaginary weight. The message was clear; she's dead. I felt my heart sink in my chest, and I fought back the urge to question further. No matter how desperately I wanted to know, now was most definitely not the time.

Charles merely nodded, an understanding frown now adorning his solid face. "Very well, you may leave."

Lelouch pivoted on his heel and stalked off without as much as a bow. I gave the Emperor and the Knight of One a respectful bow, before chasing after the bold prince with post haste. Even as I sidled up to him, he gave no indication of slowing his pace, dead set as he was to be rid of this place. As we passed the precipice of the hall, Lelouch finally spoke.

"I refuse to have that man take my life," He snarled the words, shocking me slightly at the blunt remark.

"He's not interested in killing you, you must realise that." I countered, maintaining speed with the boy.

He turned to me, a confounded expression set on his face, as if I stated the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course I realise it; he's more interested in watching me squirm and fight my way out. But that doesn't mean he will stop someone from killing me; if his toy can't fight back, it's of no use to him." Quiet agitation bubbled in my chest at his blatant disrespect, but I carefully reined it in; most people would be aggressive when they stood at the edge of their grave.

"Well, what do you have planned?"

Lelouch paused for a brief moment, considering his options at a speed which I could not comprehend; it was an expression I'd seen on both Charles and Schneizel multiple times. Seemingly pleased with his plan, he turned to me, staring me straight in the eye with an expression harder than stone. "Where can I find a fitness instructor?"

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Emperor Charles zi Britannia
August 28th, 2015 A.T.B.a
Imperial Palace, Pendragon

With a sigh I marched from the court chamber, exhaustion settling into my aging bones. Outside the presence of the ever observant, lying, thieving blue blooded nobility, I allowed myself a faint slouch, diminishing my ever domineering demeanour. The guards had all but left the area, leaving me to consider the conversation just had. Despite the blatant disrespect he had shown me and my knights, I could not help the swell of pride in me. He was faced with threats of death, yet he did not yield, did not cower. He stood toe to toe with a man weighing easily twice he did, with the power of the most powerful empire at his fingertips, and refused to back down. I suppose after living through the hells of war, a mere man was not intimidating, no matter how much power he held.

"Was that really necessary, Charlie?" A cheeky voice called through the hall, one which I immediately recognised, and delighted in hearing. Emerging from the shadows of the corridor, a small girl revealed herself from her lurking. She was small by all accounts, even for a twelve year old. A poof of pink hair sat upon her head, the colour soft and fluffy enough to make candy floss jealous. Her eyes matched the colour, the only distinction being the faintest, glowing red rims around her iris. She sauntered over to me in a mildly seductive manner, something as ill-suited to the body as to make the entire scene somewhat disturbing, especially considering the almost obscenely scant clothing she wore.

"Ah, so you saw that did you?" I asked, continuing my stroll through the halls in nonchalance.

The little girl cocked her hip and rested her hand on it, frowning at me. "Of course I saw it; it's a mother's duty to watch out for her children, is it not?" As I passed her place, she spun on her heel and strolled by my side.

"I suppose so," I shrugged, paying little heed to the little girl that marched at my side as if she were my equal. "Have I ever told you how disconcerting it is to be talking to a twelve year old like my own wife?" I spoke up, still avoiding looking at the body my wife had taken to inhabiting.

Her response was a cheeky smile, one that I missed dearly seeing on her actual face. This body gave a stale taste to my mouth every time I saw it; a weak fake when compared to the effervescence and allure of the proper Marianne. "Many times, dear. It's not going to stop me from harassing you." She gibed, none concerned for what she said in my presence.

"Of course not," The words slipped my tongue with a sigh. I raised my eyes until I locked with hers, "Any news on Code R? I don't believe I can stand this fluffy little pink thing you waltz around in much longer," I gestured to her body to emphasise the point, though it seemed to have little to no effect, as she only gave a coy smile instead, invading my personal space in a way that what would have been flirtatious were it not the fact she wore the skin of a child.

"Oh please, what you really mean is you can't stand not being able to ravish your only love until she screams into the night, aren't I right?"

I rubbed my temple to stem a false headache, groaning at her antics. "You have always been a letch, Marianne. The court may say it is your common upbringing that gave you such a dirty mind, but we both know the truth; that's just you."

Her coy smile did not falter, but instead grew larger in response, "Oh, you love it."

"I suppose so," I grunted non-committedly, not giving the woman the satisfaction of getting under my skin. I hastily changed the subject, bringing it back to the original point of her obstruction, "The boy has guts, to face me like that. He is confident in his ability to elude danger."

She cocked her eyebrow in a way to suggest I'd just spoken the complete obvious, "What else did you expect from the first born of Marianne the Flash?"

"I suppose it is no surprise. I've had more luck ordering a mule around than to even suggest to you something that you won't like." I groaned to her, causing her to giggle slightly.

"'I'll take that as a compliment, Charlie dear!" She jeered; I deadpanned, "I just wish you didn't have to play these games." She said with a pout, eliciting a small smile from me; she was absolutely juvenile; a breath of fresh air in this stuffy, stagnant court.

"Lelouch must earn his position in the court; we both know this. They see him as scum, and unless he does something to earn their respect, he will be a muted voice amongst those vipers."

"Yes, I suppose so. It would certainly be a waste if he were to be drowned out by those other insipid nobles." She sneered; not that her dislike was unwarranted considering their treatment of her, "So why bring him back in the first place? I thought we agreed that we leave him and Nunnally in Japan until we complete the Ragnarok Connection."

"The boy was painting himself as a target; he was the effective leader of Ashford Lamperouge Industrial, a massive arms manufacturer responsible for producing the new Knightmare units. He would have been found out eventually, and I would have had even less ability to intervene with matters." I explained half-heartedly.

She eyed me suspiciously, looking me over with her childish, sceptical gaze. "That's not the only reason, now is it?" I wasn't surprised she'd pick up on that; She was always better at telling my half-truths than most. I don't know why I bother sometimes.

"No, but that is a surprise." I grinned, receiving another childlike pout from her, though she knew better than to push the subject; she knew if I was to tell her of my plan, I would do so when I felt it necessary.

We continued walking side by side in comfortable silence, and for the few, briefest moments, I felt contentment at her side; the fact she wore the body of a child all but lost on me. As we passed the threshold of my own, personal quarters within the castle, she spoke up once more.

"So no news of Nunnally, then?"

I frowned, just a little upset at the OSI's inability to find her. "Nothing," I admitted, "I think it best to continue on; if she is not making a nuisance of herself, we should let everyone believe she is dead as Lelouch says. And if what Lelouch says is true, it matters little. Once the Ragnarok Connection is completed, death will be as meaningless as life."

"Such a melancholic poet, aren't you Charlie?" She cooed with a giggle, leaning up and giving me a quick peck on the cheek before turning around and back towards the doorway, "Well, I've got to go now, Charlie boy; studying for the Knightmare exams is dreadful. Anya seriously has no taste for colour, and she's silly enough to choose heavy and slow moving Knightmare kits, though I will not deny her skill in them." She sauntered out of my quarters, her provocative movements marred by her small hips. She turned on her heels and blew me a kiss, the mirth in her eyes making abundantly clear just how much she enjoyed teasing me so. "Bye bye, Charlie dearest."

And she was gone in a flash, nothing indicating she was ever here, leaving me alone in my plush, luxurious apartment. Chuckling under my breath, I moved over to my daybed, picking up the tome I'd been reading from the coffee table; 'War and Peace'. Were any of the nobility to find me reading a Russian novel, I am certain the media would have a field day; they were the idiots to misinterpret my words, after all. Opening it to the page I'd bookmarked, I found a brilliant pink heart with an arrow piercing it embossed on the top of the plain pages, the words 'Mary + Charlie 4ever' written within its bounds, along with a small note telling me to 'cheer up a little, gloomy guts' written in the margin.

Chuckling lightly, I slumped onto the chair, bringing the book up to reading level. "I swear, that woman will be the death of me." I muttered under my breath.

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Naoto Kozuki
August 28th, 2015 A.T.B.

Shinjuku Ghetto, Outskirts of Tokyo

We stood in a Spartan room, no decorations ordaining the walls, nor useless furniture spread. To say the space was small would be an understatement; there was barely enough space for the six of us to stand comfortably, disregarding the rotted crate come table upon which a tattered map of the outer Tokyo regions were displayed. The highways and major roads of the once bustling city of Tokyo were highlighted, some a vibrant green, others crossed off with deep red. The borders of the ghettos were marked in black, clearly defining the areas of our pseudo states. I ran a hand through my dull red hair as I looked upon the map, gaining an understanding of the situation.

"Britannia has continued to divert forces from the ghettos, focusing on the guerrilla skirmishes with the Japanese Liberation Front along Kobotoke Pass." Minami stated, readjusted his glasses over his squarish face and shifting his brown hair from his face as he motioned towards the jungle bordering the ghettos. "If this continues, there will be no more Britannian military elements anywhere near the ghettos very soon, meaning we can open up further operations into liberating the people."

"Yeah, ain't ya heard? Apparently that guy –what's 'is name again? Zero?- sent some of the JLF to that base over in Hyogo while the Brits were off dealing with some sort of trap they set up in Sasayama. Stripped the base clean; the only thing those Brits had left were the stuff they hadn't lost in Sasayama." Tamaki roared boisterously, the faintest hints of alcohol on his breath, and the slightest touch of red to his cheeks, "I'd have loved to see those damn Brits faces when they came back to an blown up base!"

Sugiyama thwacked Tamaki up the side of the head, his yellow eyes watching the blundering dunce from behind his deep turquoise hair with a hint of contempt. "That's enough Tamaki; we're not here to discuss rumours."

"But the guy ain't a rumour! All the guys in the JLF all say he's real," Tamaki protested, rubbing his head in a vain attempt to rub the mild pain away.

"Regardless, Tamaki. We should be focusing on our own work, not that of others." I scolded, shifting my attention to the only woman present in the room, Inoue. "What's the living condition in the ghetto?"

"Well, we haven't been able to set up any viable farms, so we'll have to continue to rely on whatever the outer rim can produce." She declared with a minute frown, crossing her arms as she examined the map.

"So the same as usual?" I sighed, mulling over this new information. "Getting food here is a major problem, and we're not exactly on good terms with the rebels in Mitaka, so that cuts off a major supply route." I thought aloud, trying to air out my own thoughts in order to come up with a solution.

"Those assholes held up another food convoy the other day, trying to squeeze the drivers dry. I mean, it's bad enough with Britannia taxing us until we drop." Yoshida piped in, letting his disgust known; it was a conversation we'd had more than a few times. Raiders didn't sit well with the muscular brunette, nor with most in this room.

"And we've received reports that the guys in Toda will be doing the same thing." Minami announced, causing me to curse in my head slightly. The ghetto relied upon the old metropolitan expressway and New Omiya Dori to provide the much needed supplies unavailable in the ruins of the old entertainment district.

"So that cuts off both major supply routes to the ghetto?" I pointed out, receiving unanimous agreement across all sober members. "Looks like we'll need to either establish some sort of trade pact, or take hostile action." I deduced, scanning the map for some alternative.

Tamaki perked up at this, his hurt suddenly disappearing in favour of an ear splitting, malicious grin. "Yeah, let's go beat the shit out of those jackasses!" He cried out, the desire for bloody murder more than apparent in his eyes.

"Calm down Tamaki; I'd prefer to handle this peacefully rather than resort to gang warfare. The moment the ghettos stop working together is the moment Britannia has won." I reminded, turning to face the blue haired woman, "Inoue, you'll go and start trying to broker an agreement with the rebels." She nodded in understanding, so I moved onto my next subordinate, Minami. "Minami, I want you to start scouting Mitaka. See how well the rebels are liked. Maybe we could set up a mini revolution if Inoue can't secure a deal that involves less taxing," Minami smirked, giving a mock salute, pleased with the idea.

"Talking about taxes, Clovis has increased them yet again, but we've been able to sell more than enough clothing and electronics to keep the Brits off our back. Nobody is starving or living in too much squalor, so I wouldn't say it is awful" Sugiyama continued, handing me the Shinjuku Council's budget for me to look over. "Crime is still relatively low, mostly thanks to Yoshida and his gang."

"I resent that; we aren't just some gang. We're all trained and are about the only policing force this town has."

"Why do we even have to be police? We're freedom fighters! We should be fighting the Britannians!" Tamaki cried out, receiving frowns from everyone else; it was a conversation we'd had many times before after all.

"We don't have the manpower or firepower to push the Britannians out of Japan, and unless we do that, we'll never be free of them. And if we can't free ourselves from Britannia, we may as well just be terrorists." I admonished, receiving understanding nods from the other members. "Someone in Kyoto knows that as well. That's why they spent all the resources helping the ghettos back on their feet instead of tossing soldiers against the Britannians uselessly. If it weren't for them, I'm not sure the ghettos would be anywhere near as well of as they are now."

"So what, we just sit here and grovel for whatever the Brits give us?" The drunk growled, glaring at me.

"Of course not, Tamaki!" the blue haired man jumped in again, trying to calm the red head down.

A mild throb was starting to build in my mind, acting as a precursor for an intense headache. "For now, we wait, and build up strength." I spoke clearly, enunciating the importance to the drunken inept.

"Anyways," Inoue thankfully stepped in, continuing her summary for everyone's sake, "Ohgi has re-established some schooling in the wreck of Bao Shan College, and we've got teachers lining up for jobs there. The workers have also started to clear the wrecked buildings in the northern sector, meaning we should be able to start building proper housing there."

Sugiyama seconded her report, pitching his own opinion for us to consider. "Living conditions sure have improved since the invasion. This used to be nothing but rubble, and we used to be harassed on a regular basis. Clovis even has the Purists on a leash now, making sure they don't mess with the ghettos."

"Seeing as we now provide the bulk of his income, it is not surprising." Minami mocked, slouching onto the table and toying with the map, tracing the routes into the Britannian settlement, "As long as we keep bowing our heads and giving our money, Clovis doesn't mind how autonomous we are."

"The Brits aren't happy about it, though. Lots of lesser Britannian businesses are going bankrupt because they can't get cheap labour or compete with the cheap, high quality produce we sell." Sugiyama announced smugly, content with the minor victory.

"What concerns me is if Clovis or the other nobles decide to intervene. Like you said, the Brits aren't pleased." I piped in, returning the group to reality. "How is the armament going?" I asked Sugiyama, the blue haired man leaning over the map, pointing to the immediate outskirts of the settlement.

"The Keiyo Industrial Zone has recently restarted several of their factories, and have started to produce standard template weapons, namely the old gas-operated Kalashnikov' hybridized with EM rails and cells*. They're willing to trade them for food, clothing, workers, teachers or even living space for the families of their own workers."

"How haven't the Brits realised what they're doing?" Inoue asked.

"From what I understand, they're using the scraps of whatever project it is that Britannia has them working on to make the weapons. Clovis doesn't really regulate the purchase or storage of metals or plastics." Sugiyama explained, receiving an understanding nod from the rest of us. He in turn slouched slightly, a small frown on his face, "Besides, I don't think Clovis sees us as a real threat. We don't have the weapons to counter his Knightmares, so he'd undoubtedly win any actual engagement."

A sombre mood fell over the group as we considered what had just been said. It was undoubtedly true; even after five years of reconstruction, we were still in no shape to actually engage the Britannians. The only people to have yet gained one up on the Brits were the JLF, and they were as elusive as ever. Shaking my head free of the pessimism, I leant over the map, regaining everybody's attention. "Very well; have Yoriko Shiba move resources to Keiyo. I'm sure our little mayor would like some input in the deal. Sugiyama, you go along and negotiate the terms of the trade."

"Sure thing," Sugiyama happily complied, lazing back against the wall as we all manoeuvred around the table to get a better look at the map.

A knock at the door startled everyone into action, and we all scrambled for our weapons. I relieved my small pistol from its holster, gripping it tightly in my hand. Sugiyama and Inoue huddled behind the table, weapons drawn at the door. Minami sidled up to the door, back pressed to the wall and gun focused on the doorway. Tamaki blundered about, dropping his own weapon on the floor and chasing after it with his face.

"Who's there?" I called to the presence behind the door, making sure my body was well out of the way of the opening of the doorway lest they started shooting.

"Good afternoon, Master Statdfeld." A small, feminine voice came through the doorway, her Japanese accented lightly with Britannian. "I come on behalf of the seventh house of Kyoto."

My curiosity was piqued. I slowly peaked over the cusp of the doorway, carefully opening the door until I could see through the sliver. What I saw was almost chuckle worthy; there sat a relatively young mild-mannered Japanese woman, dressed in a rather puffy Britannian maid's outfit, with an African and Caucasian guards wielding modified Austrian AUG assault rifles and dressed in Japanese military uniforms. The sheer absurdity of it gave a palpable air of humour to the otherwise threatening situation. "If you want to talk to me, better tell those thugs to put their weapons away," I called out. With a militaristic gesture befitting a trained soldier, the woman signalled for the guards to dispose of their weapons. With a sigh of relief, I holstered my own weapon and opened the door, revealing the peculiar trio to the rest of my companions. The maid gave a respectful bow, righting herself to a surprisingly imposing stance that clashed with her mild serenity.

"How do you know my name?" I interrogated, staring the woman in her pale brown eyes. She wore a light smile, unflinching as she was in the presence of so many ragged and worn resistance fighters.

"My master makes it a point to know many things." She replied respectfully, making no move to address the topic further. We stood locked in a silent staring contest, neither giving ground nor taking it in this battle of pride.

It wasn't until our home grown blundering oaf got back up that the match was broken, as he drunkenly swaggered over to her, prodding her in the chest accusingly "What'cha talking about, you little brit bitch? There are only six houses in Kyoto," he stammered, checking his fingers to make sure the numbers were right, and grinning giddily when he found they were.

The Japanese woman brushed him off, giving the man only a dangerous look, asking for him to do it again in the sort of a way that suggested many broken bones and bruises would be the product. Even Tamaki seemed to have gotten the message, hesitant as he was to continue his little tirade. She turned to me, her gentle smile still unwavering. "Yes, well, the seventh house isn't particularly fond of becoming common knowledge. A Britannian aiding the Japanese resistance is not looked on too kindly, by either side." She explained cryptically, providing just enough information to whet my appetite though not enough to truly satisfy; an artist at negotiations, to be sure.

"I'm still unsure to whom it is you are referring." I admitted, none too pleased with being caught with nothing at hand.

"My apologies, let me rephrase; I am here on behalf of the one you call Zero." The room was encapsulated in a stunning silence, not even the draft whistling through the hall making a noise in the wake of her statement. While her expression remained constant, her eyes expressed her pleasure at the stunned faces my comrades gave. Even I found myself gawking, which was truly something special; Kallen would've wanted pictures. Clearing her throat, the Japanese woman continued on, her tone perfectly clear on who stood where in these dealings.

"I have a deal that you would do well not to ignore," She said, an underlying malevolence to her tone so subtle I'm not entirely sure I wasn't hearing things. I merely nodded, and she let herself in, curious guard in tow.

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Euphemia li Britannia
September 22nd, 2015 A.T.B.
Imperial Palace, Pendragon

Chatter filled the hall, the vast collection of nobility, royalty, and military mingling. Everybody wore immaculate garb, from the highly ornamental formal uniform of the military, impeccably straight rows of medals on show, to the maroon gown sister was forced to wear under such circumstances. The elderly men of court milled about, making small talk with any of the other nobility present. The consorts, all dressed in their appallingly revealing evening gowns, all gossiped away about whatever their prince or princess did, the usual showmanship bred into the nobility coming to the fore. Said princes and princesses did much of the same, bragging to whomever would listen about their recent conquest; some literal, some sexual, some artistic.

The low hum of voices gave a certain buzz to the court, and not a single voice could rise above another. I found myself suffocating under the competitive banter, lost in a world that I should know like the palm of my hand. Cornelia looked about as disgusted as I felt, sneering at the lecherous remarks and military folly that made up the conversation around us. She despised court, and she made no effort to hide it; even I knew she was better suited to the inside of a Knightmare than to the political charade of court. Schneizel, who had taken to standing right next to us, looked as serene as ever, as if he belonged here, but his eyes were hollow, neither here nor there, as if in contemplation of something important, though I knew better than to ask what. He would just brush me off, tell me to enjoy the conversation and the chance to catch up with my siblings. So I stood.

"I wonder why we've all been called together like this? Is Father about to make another royal decree?" Carine asked, her cutesy high voice and sheer stupidity grating on Cornelia's ears visibly, the already agitated princess curling her fists tight enough to audibly pop her knuckles.

Thankfully, a burly man came to Carine's rescue, his wild, long chestnut hair splayed in all directions. His eyes were a dull bronze, mellowed and hardened until they only looked upon the world with aloof amusement, "Are you really that thick, Carine? Why else would we be here?" His voice was gruff and course to the ears, the husky voice evidence of an avid smoker. Carine glared at him, her face growing redder with every moment, until her cheeks nearly matched her hair. I stepped forward, not looking for this to escalate into an actual fight.

"Father could be announcing another brother or sister, Brother Ajax. None of us know why we've been called, so there is no need to rile up Sister Carine so." I protested, only receiving a faint chuckle from the surly man.

"You are as naïve as ever, Euphemia." I turned to face the direction of the new voice, this one rich and mellifluous to the ears. By comparison to his brother, his thick, chestnut beard was neatly trimmed and his luscious locks framed his chiselled features, punctuating his shimmering golden eyes; he looked the very pinnacle of the Charlemagnic king.

"But-" I huffed in protest, only for Cornelia to sigh at my side.

"Agamemnon is right, Euphy. Look about." Taking her advice, I watched the crowd, spotting more than a few familiar faces. "Everybody is here. Castor and Pollux were called back from Area Nine* where they were putting down a workers revolt" She started, motioning to the two bobs of turquoise hair, the two squabbling about the nature of the interruption, "And there is Clovis, still dressed up for his ball" Even amongst the gaudy, faultless jewels and embroidery, the blonde stuck out like a sore thumb, his usual viceroy's garb replaced by some overtly extravagant suit, cape and crown. Seeming to notice us now, Clovis moved over to us, his despondent pout a clear signifier of just how pleased he was to be called here. He waved us a greeting, though Cornelia blatantly ignored him, moving to face the dais again even as the flamboyant prince sidled up to us, greeting us politely "Whatever's happening, it's important," Cornelia finally finished, reverting her eyes back to the front

"I heard that they are making up the Aries Villa for some important guest to stay. About time someone took up the place. Perhaps I can ask them to allow me in to paint the gardens again?" Clovis added, pitching his two cents to an increasingly aggravated 'Witch of Britannia'.

"Yes, I've heard that a very important person was recently brought to Britannia; must be someone of incredible importance, especially if they warrant Father's attention." Agamemnon seconded, stroking his neat beard in thought.

It was then that a pair of the royal guards marched in from the left, hoisting a beautifully carved wooden podium between them. All muttering ceased in an instant, everyone waiting expectantly. The guards set it down in the centre of the throne, the utmost delicacy taken with each action. As the podium was centred, the guards took up attentive 'at ease' stances a few metres away from the podium, hands clasped behind their backs and legs spread. "His Majesty, the Royal Emperor of the Holy Britannian Empire will now enter!" They shouted in unison.

Father emerged from the shadows to the right of the throne, his imposing, authoritarian presence demanding silence and respect. His royal regalia never failed to remind us of his militancy, the royal purple overcoat trimmed with gold and an exact replica of a general's dress uniform. His curled and coifed hair flowed and bobbed with every powerful step he took. His squared features and permanent scowl gave an impression of permanent contempt as he looked upon the crowd. He stood behind his handsomely crafted podium, watching the crowd with his hard, cold amethyst eyes.

"All men are not created equal! I have spoken these words before, endeavoured to teach this to all. Adversity separates the strong for the weak. The strong thrive, the weak perish; this is the way of the world. The strong consume the weak to survive." Father started, his voice booming through the hall, capturing the attention of anyone listening. He slammed his fist against his podium, the loud slap of flesh on wood shaking me to my bone. His grimace remained as pronounced as ever, his purple eyes darting through the crowd, chilling any that set their gaze upon him to the bone. "Honour, dignity, love; all pale in the face survival." I felt my heart sink at his words; how could he condone such behaviour? I felt revolted just being in the same room, but at the same time enthralled by his words; how someone could propose such a thing yet leave so many hanging from his words would remain a mystery for me. "But sometimes, the weak survive, feeding from the carcasses left behind by the strong, scampering in the darkness to avoid their fates. They are nothing but cowards, needing to be crushed."

Father paused dramatically, his eyes fixed on the massive, gilded doorway at the back of the chamber, motioning for the royal guards posted there to open the towering, wooden doors. With a nod, the guards took up positions behind the doors, heaving them open with all they could muster. I felt myself quivering in anticipation, curious to see who was being brought before the court today, and sorrowful that someone should have to be tried for simply wanting to survive. The wooden doors creaked on their hinges, the squeak shrieking through the hall. Everybody waited with bated breaths, some keen to judge whoever came through the door, others just merely interested to see who fathers next victim to be.

As the doors opened entirely, I felt my heart fall through my chest. I buckled at the knees, grasping Cornelia for support. "Impossible," Cornelia whispered beside me, her shock plastered on her face. Clovis spluttered, unsure of himself to produce any actual, coherent words. An audible gasp swept through the crowd, all stunned at the revelation standing in the breach. My throat was tight, choked, unable to produce any words. Tears welled in my eyes. This was just unfair.

He was menacing, a thin and lanky apparition. His mop of black hair obscured his eyes from view, but the sharp, violet eyes watched the court like a hawk, a sneer on his face. His jaw was sharp and angled, his cheeks gaunt and hollow. If pain and betrayal had a face, he would be it. Compared to the extravagant attire of all members attending the hall, his simple black suit looked obtusely out of place.

He strode with grace and purpose, marching dutifully and proudly to Father's dais. Pride welled in me as I realized even under the scornful gazes of everyone in the room, bar a few, he held himself strong. The feeling immediately died when he passed my position, and an inexplicable chill made its way down my spine. My breathing stuttered. My heart fluttered and fell. Gooseflesh invaded my system. My already quaking knees threatened to give way, or take me far, far away. Something was wrong, oh so very wrong. Cornelia was stiff besides me, and Clovis looked about ready to faint. A fear I hadn't known since stumbling into the Imperial Mausoleum at midnight came bubbling up. As he continued his march, I felt ashamed by the relief I felt as he passed.

He stood before Father, as defiant as ever, his stance rigid. They eyed one another, watching each other intensely. The seconds passed in tense silence. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of watching, Lelouch knelt before Father, bowing his head in respect.

"I have returned from Area Eleven after my five year absence." Clovis gasped beside me, flustered by the implication of Lelouch's words.

"Lelouch; you were sent to Area Eleven to secure peace. You failed. Not just that, but you hid from me, running away from your failure. What have you to say in your defence?" Father's voice boomed through the hall, accusing our supposedly dead brother with the animosity of a predator tearing apart his prey.

Lelouch remained bowing, not rising to the bait or defying the accusations set against him. "I have nothing to say, Father." His voice was light, though anything but meek.

Father cocked his eyebrow, the contempt in his gaze chilling to the bone. "Nothing? You failed your task, and you have no reason?" He growled, the sheer fire in his voice enough to make me cower behind Cornelia. He slammed his fist again, regaining my absolute attention, "Shall I make an example to your siblings of the punishment for failure and cowardice? Or perhaps I should leave you to my court to decide your fate?" My throat grew dry, my eyes wide; what would father do to him, just after he'd resurrected from the dead in so many eyes.

"That will not be necessary, father. I have already administered my own punishment." The hall remained deathly silent in the wake of his statement, watching as Father looked upon the exiled prince in disdain, sheer abhorrence seeping from every pore.

"Oh? And what makes you think that whatever you have done is an adequate punishment?" He demanded, receiving a few quietly muttered agreements from the crowd. Unperturbed by those conspiring against him, Lelouch answered the challenge with respect, body still slouched in a benevolent kneel.

"I am enlisted to join the thirteenth infantry company of the Rehabilitation Legion. I start training next week." Father cocked his eyebrow in surprise, a small grin sitting haughtily along his lips. Cornelia gasped at my side, obviously recognising whoever it was he was referring to, though I sat there in palpable confusion along with a large quantity of my cohort, simply aghast at the fact he was joining the military so soon after being found.

"I shall take my leave." Lelouch silently raised himself from the ground, swivelling on the balls of his feet and marching out of the hall with poised grace. Father watched amusedly as the exiled prince left with not another word, the crowds to either side shivering as he passed. He marched confidently out of the doors, leaving everybody muttering viciously about what they'd just witnessed. Even father seemed to be surprised at the conversation.

"You are all dismissed." His voice bellowed across our ears, the authoritarian throne signalling for us all to vacate the hall. Cornelia stood rooted to her position, looking unable to decide whether to flee for the door after Lelouch, or charge up to father and demand an explanation.

I gazed over to the door, my heart longing to reconcile the hurt soul who'd left just prior.

"Lelouch…"

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'With the introduction of Ashford Lamperouge Industrial's patented medical exoskeleton technology, victims of paraplegia as well as amputees and other such impaired have seen a return to normal life.-'

'-The incredible technology developed by Reuben Ashford's Knightmare production company works by detecting the movement of muscles in the limbs, and mimics the action it postulates to be the correct response with minute electric motors situated in the joints of an external frame running the length of the limbs.-'

'-The technology isn't perfect, however; the joints remain stiff and relatively unresponsive, making even walking a rather finicky thing to be doing without practise using the skeletons.-'

'-Due to their reliance upon muscle movement rather than nervous messages, this technology cannot help quadriplegics or people suffering from muscular spasms.-'

-David Scheller, Excerpt from 'How it Works, Issue #356', Published 2013 A.T.B

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I would just like to thank all those who followed, favourited, or reviewed this story.

Special thanks to NewGuyontheBlock, who pointed out a major flaw in my identification of the Knightmare frames; you are most definitely correct about RPI being royal panzer infantry. So, this leaves me with a few options: Either I can redo the entire scene and change the company name to something else, or I can just refer to Knightmares as something else. So, if you noticed it, I am having the Britannians designate Knightmares as Imperial Mechanised Infantry, which in my eyes makes more sense. For one, not all Knightmares are in direct service of a royal family member, thus they aren't royal but rather Imperial. Panzer is a German term for tank, and it makes no sense for the Britannians to refer to their armour using German terminology, thus they are now referred to as Mechanised Infantry. This makes the new designation IMI rather than RPI.

In respects to your other qualm, NGOTB, I am undecided on romantic relations. For the most part, this story focuses on conquest, politics, and the such. Romance may come up later, but will not hold particularly strong position in the story.

To any and all who have problems with my change of perspective, I am sorry that you feel that way, but it is my preferred writing style. I like to provide multiple perspectives, and feel that first person provides the best opportunity to do so. I do not know how to make the transitions easier for you, seeing as I have already given identification and location, which should indicate the transition of perspective.

*Kalashnikov hybridized with EM rails and cells- The Kalashnikov, or better known as the AK-47, is a fairly stock standard assault rifle. However, it relies on gunpowder as a propellant for the bullet. In the code geass universe, all modern small arms rely on strong electromagnetic (EM) pulses to propel the projectiles. As such, it is safe to assume that for practicalities sake that hybridisation would occur, where the new EM tech would be planted in the old Standard Template weapons.

*Area Nine- New Zealand, as according to the Code Geass Wiki