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.

3. The Prisoner, Act 1, Turn 3

This particular chapter is rated M, due to some coarse language, though I am almost entirely sure that none of you care. If you're a kid on the Code Geass Fanfiction, you aren't the type whose never heard a swear word before. Oh, there is also torture *Shrugs*

Proctor of the Twilight Empire
The Wolf Returns, Wearing the Skin of a Sheep
Turn 3
To Face the Axe and its Gleaming Silver Edge

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"-Thanks to the efforts of the Proctors (See Entry: Proctors, p389 Volume 8) and Queen Elizabeth I's infamous temper, jails across the isles were overfilled. As the threat of war with the Spanish, Irish and Norwegians loomed, and the civil revolts amongst the nobility were quelled, Queen Elizabeth was faced with a dilemma; what to do with her vast quantities of prisoners her agents had captured. While execution seemed the most viable option, it was a suggestion from her trusted advisor, lover and current leader of the Proctors, Robert Dudley, which ultimately decided her course of action. In 1630 she established the Henry VIII Penitentiary, training facility for the Judicial Rehabilitation Legion, the first official penal legion in Britannia.-"

"-In 1787, a second facility was built in the province of Saskatchewan, Canada, labelled Henry VIII Penitentiary (II), which would later serve as a crucial point of the War for Independence, between the British Empire and the American Rebels.-"

"-To this day, any prisoner of Britannia can opt to serve in the Rehabilitation Legion until a time where they have been deemed to have paid their sentence. Due to incredibly high mortality rates (over 97%) amongst recruits in the Legion, only those on death row tend to join.-"

-Gregory Wilde, Excerpt from 'Encyclopaedia Britannia; Judicial Rehabilitation Legion', Published 2003 A.T.B

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General Andreas Dalton, Knight to Cornelia L. Britannia
September 24th, 2015 A.T.B.
Aries Villa, Pendragon

"Princess, I don't think you are in the right state of mind at the moment to be doing this," I attempted to soothe, though my princess would have none of it as she stormed from the luxurious cabin of her limousine. I was met with little more than a huff from the woman as she charged the gate as she would an enemy stronghold. Sighing deeply, I followed behind her, sidling up to Guilford who had as weary a look as I felt. This conversation –if it could be called that- had been going on for the past few days; Guilford and I had been tag teaming to try and calm our furious maiden, though all efforts thus far have seemed to have fallen on deaf ears; or incredibly stubborn ones, as in this case. Since Prince Lelouch's reveal two days ago her highness had been in an uncontrollable fit, her vicious tirade around the palace enough to have even the most seasoned and hardy servants scampering for cover every time she passed. The fact that the guards of the Aries Villa had denied her entry –twice, she'll be quick to tell you- when she came to seek out her estranged brother had not helped the situation much.

"Do not try to stop me," She sneered back at us, no longer considering our opinion, if she had to begin with; she only kept her pace. My heart dropped a little as I saw the golden gates of the villa, and the sea of people we had to cross to get there. Media paparazzi had flooded up to the gates of the villa, all seeking to get their scoop. Who wouldn't, after all? It was one of the biggest stories of the past decade; the return of an exiled prince, and the first member of the royal family to join the Penal Legion. Guilford cringed at the sight, obviously thinking the same thing as I; these long few days were not going to be ending anytime soon. The humdrum of the crowd was loud enough that I could not hear a word good ol' Guilly was telling me as we approached the ravenous rabble. The mindless journalists mustn't have noticed our arrival yet, seeing as none turned to face us. Faced with the shuffling crowd of miscreants, perverts, snoops and vagabonds gallivanting as photographers and professionals, our mistress' frustration peaked. "Get out of my way!" she howled at the crowd, moving to draw her weapon from her side.

Well, one could never accuse her highness of having a light touch.

The silence as the crowd parted was a god send. Now that her highness had direct line of sight of the vast golden gates of the villa, it seemed nothing would stop her now. With her long white cape whipping behind her, she stalked her way up to the golden gate, we two knights tailing behind her in unison. I could only imagine the fury openly displayed on her face, but if the slight tremble of the royal guard behind the gate was any indication, it was the most wrathful she'd been in a long time.

"You will open this gate and let me in," she growled at the man. When he hesitated for a moment, she added with a snarl, "Or I will bring my entire Knightmare Corp and open it myself."

The guard looked flabbergasted, shocked at the mere suggestion the princess would act in such a manner. His eyes darted to me and Guilford, silently pleading for a rational head to prevail. With nought but a sigh, I waved my hand, gesturing for him to open the gate. "You'd best do as she says; she isn't one to make idle threats."

With a small gulp, the man nodded. "I'll inform his majesty of your arrival, Princess." With a shaky hand, he unlocked the pedestrian gate.

"You do just that," she rebutted, barging past him through the gilded gateway, taking heed of no one and nothing but the target just up the immaculately kept driveway; the massive oak doorway separating her from her prey; poor boy.

As she busted through the inordinate doorway, her temper flaring until even I felt the rage radiating from her, the huge doors slamming into the wall with an incredible thud. "Lelouch, you'd best get out here now!" She yelled at the top of her lungs, startling the few maids visible, all of which were moving to the common room. Taking that as her cue, she brushed past the poor girls and entered the threshold of the room, coming face to back with a small crowd of maids, security officers, and other caretakers of the house, all facing towards the stairwell whereupon the target of her desire –to throttle- perched, an aura of regal authority to match even the emperor himself surrounding him, and –thankfully- the bone chilling aura that had permeated his presence in the royal halls seemingly absent. His face did enough to make up for it, though. Stoic to the point of bitterness, an aloof and uncaring demeanour a clear signifier of his words to come, his face was enough to even have butterflies flitting through my stomach, and I didn't even work for the brat.

"You'll find a pink slip in your pigeon holes, as well as your payslip for the next three months, as per your contracts. You are all hereby excused indefinitely." The words were all sharp and emotionless, no hint of malice or sympathy.

One of the senior maids stepped forward, horror etched on her face. "You can't do this! We need these jobs to support our families!"

"I'm sure if you asked the emperor, he'd be more than willing to give you another job; he always has demand for more spies after all." He rebutted, dismissing the qualm as a non-issue.

"But how will you maintain this household?" Another maid protested, receiving a dismissive gesture from the prince.

"That is none of your concern," He stated, ending the conversation there and then.

The entire staff looked shell-shocked; the bombshell just dropped enough to make me feel just a little sympathy for them. My maiden, however, remained unaffected, evidenced by the fact she was now pushing her way through the dispersing, miserable crowd. "Lelouch! What the hell do you think you are doing?!" She snarled at the boy, catching him by surprise. He cocked an eyebrow at her, his cold façade slipping by the slightest margin; obviously he was not expecting her presence.

"Oh, Cornelia; I wasn't informed of your arrival," He started, frowning ever so slightly –probably annoyed at being caught off guard; my princess made the same face whenever something unexpected happened to herself… maybe just a tad angrier than his, though- but he ultimately shrugged it off, approaching his half-sister with a weary graciousness, "I was just laying off the staff; I have no need for them, after all."

"That is not what I was referring to; you can do what you want with your staff," She growled, drawing closer to the half-brother she'd often admitted to missing –though it was not nearly as evident as she should have let it be- glaring at the spindly raven haired boy who looked confused to the unaware eye, "What I'm referring to is your enlistment in the Rehabilitation Legion!"

It was hard to tell, but the look of sudden realization he had plastered on his face felt just a little off; it was too much like Schneizel's, and I have learnt to never believe a thing that man says or does. "Ah, of course, that. Yes, I felt like a nice change of pace," He jested, cracking a small smile.

The reaction was instant. Cornelia's fury dissipated immediately, replaced with nothing but pleading, even begging –though I wouldn't quite go that far; her majesty might hear- as she looked upon his gaunt face and paled eyes. "Please, Lelouch. Stop playing these games with me. I finally get to see my lost brother after five years, and he's putting himself straight back in front of the firing line. I'd at least like to know why."

His expression was solemn, his eyes showing a tiredness and fatigue hidden just moments ago. "I have to be punished; that's what everyone wants, and our father won't deny them their blood."

"You could have just asked me to protect you Lelouch! Or even Schneizel. We could have used our influence to protect you from the court."

Lelouch shook his head in response, "The Emperor would never allow it. He's too interested in watching me fight my way out."

My Princess considered this response briefly, struggling intently to come up with some sort of contingency. "But why do you have to join the penal legion? You'll be led to the slaughter! The legion is made up of only convicts and-"

"Political prisoners," Another voice interrupted, this one smooth as silk and charming enough a starved lion might reconsider their attack. I turned to see the familiar frock of wavy golden hair and pale grey/purple eyes, accompanied by the immaculate white and golden trimmed robes of the white prince, "Which isn't too far from the truth, is it Lelouch?" He directed his attention to the slim boy who'd been considered the only one who could ever match the tactical superiority of our prime minister, way back when. Kanon Maldini stood behind his prince; the pseudo knight serving as an unassuming guard and PA as per usual, though amongst his prince's siblings the disguise fell a bit flat.

"As perceptive as ever, Schneizel; a shame we couldn't have met under less distressful circumstances, I would have loved to have another match with you." Lelouch answered, giving a weak smile, one that broke the heart of my princess, if her face was any indication.

"We still have a few days yet; I can arrange a match sometime later, no?" Schneizel suggested, gesturing to the old chessboard sitting on a coffee table to the side of the hall, the immaculate pieces worn and the table top cracked from overuse; Lelouch's first set, if memory served me right.

Lelouch opened his mouth to answer when a small ball of pink barrelled its way over to him, colliding with enough force to knock him off balance and flat onto the floor. "Lelouch!" she squealed as she gripped onto him as tightly as she could, not daring let go lest he disappear again. "It's really you! Oh, I'm so happy!" She cried, tears streaming down her face as she clutched the boy even tighter. I struggled to hide a smile at the warm reunion; can't have my reputation as a hard-ass ruined because of the sickly sweet princess.

"Yes, I'm back Euphy," He soothed, running his hands through her bright pink hair. Schneizel chuckled a little, and a fond smile made its way onto Cornelia's face. Euphemia kept sobbing onto his shoulder, holding onto him for dear life. After a few seconds of just sitting there, Lelouch made to pry her off his body, but she just tightened her grip. "Could you let go of me now?" He pleaded, gasping for breath under her iron grip.

She shook her head weakly into his shoulder before raising her head to bring herself face to face with him, pouting, "But if I let you go, you'll just run off again," She whispered, so soft and heartfelt I felt my own heart melt a bit. She kept sobbing into his shoulder, holding onto him tighter and tighter until eventually Lelouch gave a squeak "If you don't let me go, the next place I'll be going is the grave."

Realising her blunder, she recoiled from the target of her affection with such haste she nearly bounded straight into my princess, her cheeks and ears flushed bright red, "Oh, I'm sorry!"

Grinning slightly, I moved forward and offered my hand to the gasping prince. "She's got a tough grip; better not get on her bad side, or she'll strangle the life out of you with love," I joked, lifting the boy to his feet, "It's good to see you again, Prince Lelouch," I added, giving a slight bow to the now upright boy.

He dusted himself off, dismissing my bow and instead offering me his hand to shake, "It's just Lelouch; I'm hardly a prince."

I'll admit that I was a little startled by his actions, but I took his thin hand and gave a tight, firm shake in a manner I would any equal. "You're a prince, regardless of your upbringing, titles or inheritance, sir."

"Whether I like it or not, it seems" The joke was half-hearted, and weariness had crept into his voice; the smile he had plastered was definitely fake. He extended his hand to my counterpart, Lord Guilford, as he approached in order to offer his own pleasantries to the returned prince.

"A pleasure to see you well after all these years, Prince Lelouch," The sycophant simpered, and I held in my snicker as Lelouch took a slightly deeper breath, likely to steady himself from arguing with the by-the-books knight about his need to address those around him so formally; he probably remembered the discussion-turned-argument they had when he was only nine, and how well that turned out. No matter what anyone said, Guilford always liked to keep a nice firm stick up his ass, and he probably always will; I'm still surprised that he isn't as bent* as Maldini, considering. Suppose he couldn't fit anything else up there anyway, what with that stick.

"And you, Lord Guilford," Lelouch replied, shaking the hand and receiving the bow from the overly-gracious knight. Lelouch turned to his brother's aide-de-camp standing across the other side of the hall, tucked carefully to the White Prince's side as he was- and nodded his head in greeting, "Lord Maldini."

Kanon returned the greeting. "Please, just Kanon, your highness," his reply was warm, though that was to be expected from the man, but the smile he wore was a refreshing change from the stale one usually etched onto his girlish face.

Lelouch gestured to the dining room tucked behind the stair well, genuinely smiling as he did so; thank god for that, this reunion was becoming far too much of a political game for my tastes.

"I'll be having breakfast now; would you all care to join me?" He asked, and we all accepted his offer; good thing too, I was starving.

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Kevin Samson, Journalist at The Pendragon Courier
September 25th, 2015 A.T.B.
Aries Villa, Pendragon

"So, what's happening now?" My charge asked boisterously, her giddiness at being in the field once more extremely apparent; I had my suspicions that it wasn't the only reason for her pleasure however.

I'd been exasperated when I learnt I was to go to the Aries Villa to get another scoop on the exiled prince thought dead. As I'd expected, the paparazzi and journalists surrounding the villa formed nothing short of an impenetrable horde that flooded the only entrance to the expansive, majestic mansion. With every slight movement, and every sigh I felt another journalists equipment prod into me, their bodies pressed against mine uncomfortably as they attempted to push the front; I hadn't felt this discomforted since I went to a brothel in Hong Kong chasing a lead on a gang war.

Miss Hollege on the other hand seemed unfazed by the many intentionally stray hands, lewd gazes, and opportunistic rubs she received by the horde about her, her attention focused solely on the golden gates of the villa. Since we'd caught the prince on the runway, the girl had seemed obsessed with him. She'd investigated into his exile, researched his origins and what he'd been doing. I don't know if she found anything useful, nor did I really care at this moment; another member of nobility performing another publicity stunt was old hat. They were all the same, and they very rarely made important news, well not when compared to a war with an entire underdeveloped continent in order to establish yet another fascist police state in the name of his holiest majesty –sarcasm is fantastic, isn't it?- just on the horizon. But hey, if the people want another brain-dead story on Duke Agincourt's accused assault of another prostitute or Earl Wenceslas' recent affair with Marquis Serena, who am I to deny them that?

Shaking myself of my disgruntled fuming at the insolence of the masses –Miss Hollege was giving me an odd look, so I probably looked 'about ready to sock someone in the jaw', as she so eloquently puts it- I answered with a huff. "Apparently the exiled prince is having a press conference to announce his arrival," My voice was a harsh whisper, but I had no doubt that she heard as her dainty little brow crinkled in thought.

"But don't we have footage of his arrival?" She finally asked, the question one I'd asked my editor after I'd received this particular task. And so I gave her the same answer I'd received, scowling as I did.

"All footage of the prince has been ruined; don't know how. We think the cameras were malfunctioning, only catching static." Which as we all knew was utter bullshit, because the cameras were working just fine until the plane got close. When I confronted the tower crew about it, they told me they weren't allowed to comment on anything regarding the flight, but I could tell they were surprised to find that our cameras didn't work; that told me all I needed to know. One of the crew informed me unofficially that the jets equipment malfunctioned just before landing, leading to an unexpected manual landing without flight control's guidance, the implications easily apparent. With no other leads on the matter, I grudgingly accepted the circumstances.

Lucy caught the bullshit instantly, scowling at the news; smart girl. "Well, what about the Royal Press? Shouldn't they have something from his arrival at the royal court?" She continued, and I nodded, my frown still hanging onto my face, "Couldn't we ask them for the footage?"

"I asked them the same question. Apparently they had the same problem. Cameras malfunctioned when he entered the room." There had to be something about the boy himself that was causing the cameras to malfunction, likely some sort of gadget he had. Whatever it was though, it was interfering with my business monumentally. Miss Hollege was cast deep in thought once more, so at least she was quiet now. Maybe if I was lucky, once the excitement of the prince's arrival has died down, I might get transferred to something more interesting, like being assigned to chronicle the campaign through Africa. The followers of my blog could certainly do with another interesting article that wasn't strained through the PR filters first.

"He's coming out now!" The voice broke my concentration, something that left my already irritable mood further on edge. Groaning beneath my breath, I averted my gaze to the subject of all our desire, for one reason or another. His gait was imposing, much like his father, and his very presence almost inspired deference; so no different from the last time I saw him. He lacked the usual finery the nobility loved to flaunt, instead wearing a simple black business suit, a flat silver tie bringing some colour to the matte outfit. For fourteen years old, he was certainly rather tall, and he lacked the awkwardness his lanky limbs would bring most. His violet eyes burned with an intensity that even outmatched the emperor, though by a bare margin at most. He was almost the picture of the perfect prince, were it not for the fact that he was an exile and his obvious lack of physique.

The paparazzi flocked to him in that instance, waiting with bated breath as he took his place at the lectern. A hundred voices buzzed and trilled, the countless questions they had for the undead prince hanging in the air, neither intelligent nor intelligible. Where have you been? Why have you returned? I thought it obvious, though maybe these people were just as stupid as the readers they hope to sate with such quizzical and sycophantic articles on the celebrities they follow blindly. The boy was under house arrest, for Christ sake. No, he was here for a nice holiday, returning to a nation that cast him out onto the curb for god knows what reason; the shackles here are the very comfiest, and the view from our prisons puts all else to shame.

Miss Hollege seemed unperturbed by the drivel spouted from these insipid vultures, instead struck with awe at the undoubtedly handsome boy standing behind his wooden podium. Star struck, I think the term is.

Said boy's mellifluous voice snapped me back to reality, imposing and rich, drawing any and all to it. Such was its power that with but a single utterance, the crowd was left in utter silence; beautiful, sweet silence. Not a single person even shuffled as we waited for him to continue. I switched on my recorder hurriedly, and Miss Hollege snapped from her daze enough to start taking pictures.

"Thank you for your time. I felt I should release an official statement regarding my sudden arrival after being presumed dead."

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Lucas Shen, Chinese Agent (Renegade)
September 25th, 2015 A.T.B.
Fort Hammond Penitentiary, Colorado

With woozy legs I marched forward, the slightest sway to my step. Metal cuffs clung to their newly carved home in my wrists, the cold steel biting into the ragged flesh with a malice lost to my sleep deprived mind. The rough tunic draped around my slim frame clung and rubbed against the burns marring my skin, threatening to tear away the thin blisters and scabs with every laboured movement. Deep purple bruises ran alongside the many wounds wrapping their way along my flesh, and blotched around my gut and face as a blatant reminder of my caretakers. My wounds ached and ebbed, the pain reduced to a dull constant by now. Now riddled with holes, an uncontrollable itch had made its home in my worn arms, a testament to the chemical cocktails turning my body inside out. Stinging from the countless sprays, my right eye fought to take up the slack of my left, sealed shut by the swelling of bruises.

But still alive, and sobering quickly.

Ahead of me my escort sauntered, uncaring and nursing his head in his right hand; his movements were sluggish, his stance slack. He was either entirely confident in my docility, or just simply aloof to the alternative. He reeked of tobacco and alcohol, though not the cheap kind; the thick, rich cigar in his left hand a dead giveaway. His dull grey uniform was ruffled and creased, probably tossed on after being hastily discarded the night before. His belt hung loose on his hips, standard issue pistol hanging halfway down his thigh.

A tickle of breath brushed the back of my neck, reminding me of my other escort, one far too close for comfort; likely a rookie. At least I think he is; veterans don't hesitate when ordered to shackle a highly dangerous criminal. His uniform was crisp and clean, his boots shined neatly. His own belts and buckles perfectly fitted. The only thing ill-suited was the satchel at his side after being shoved onto him by his hung-over superior. He was probably just a police officer who recently just got promoted to the do or die OSI. It didn't stop him from beating me with the stock of his rifle though.

Both easily outweighed me, and both stood a good foot above me, my head just reaching my rear guards breast.

As my senses began to return to me, and my legs stopped their drunken protest, I gathered my wits about me; they must've slackened their dosages of the sedative for me to be this aware. Flexing my arms in my chains, I found strength I hadn't felt since I'd arrived here. Either they were planning on letting me out, or were preparing me for some very extensive torture.

I quickly looked about, taking in my surroundings in hope to find any blind spots in their surveillance. The stark grey walls were unassuming and oppressive, and hid their cameras from view. Almost invisible protrusions along the wall marked sensors of some kind, probably motion trackers of some sort. The vents above carried the muffled sound of barking, the black hounds a constant perimeter at any of the security checkpoints ahead. As far as I could tell, their security was flawless; nothing short of a miracle could help me escape. With the numbness dying in my fingers, I stretched each muscle, my body shuddering at the prospect of what I was about to subject it to next. Inhaling deeply, I soothed my ragged nerves, and brought my arms forward as much as possible, as slowly as I could without being noticed.

And as the forward guard stumbled upon the hard stone floor once again, I drove my elbow straight back. With a sickening crack, my elbow met my rear guards ribs. He fell back, his grip on my shackles loosened, letting out a surprised, blood curling scream; I'm ashamed to say it left no impact on me. I leapt forward, my bound hands finding their way onto the hilt of the senior officer's gun, releasing the clasp and relinquishing the weapon from its leather embrace. As his body made to recover from the stumble, the barrel of the weapon dug between his shoulder blades, and the steel notched in his vertebrae, my thin, bloodied fingers pulled the trigger. He fell to the ground, his body slack as the bullet shredded his spinal column and emerged from his chest, only a slight gurgle sounding from his lips.

Spinning on my heel, I brought my leg up in a swift roundhouse kick, catching my escort straight in the temple. My bony leg collided with skull, his head snapping back viciously as he was sent blundering into the wall, smacking it hard against the concrete. As his body fell to the floor, a splatter of crimson now smeared across the grey, a small trickle of relief washed through me; at least there was some colour now.

Kneeling beside his body, I checked his pulse; still beating, but bare. He'll live to see tomorrow. Relinquishing him of his weapons, and a rather convenient map detailing the layout of the facility –definitely a rookie- I stood and skulked over to the senior officer, who looked to me with terrified eyes, gurgling and slumped on the floor. Blood throbbed from his chest with each erratic, shallow breath he made. Slight whimpers escaped his lips, though no words. With a swift jab of my foot to his own snivelling head, he was unconscious alongside his recruit.

Reaching into his jacket, I found his pass card and two spare magazines for the pistol. From what the guards have said –complained about, more like- outside my cell, the pass card only worked along a programmed pathway; probably a security measure to stop prisoners escaping if this exact situation occurred. Tucking the card into the waistband of my pants alongside the rookie's pistols and the extra ammunition, I started to move along the path that my escorts were taking me, weapon in hand.

I was quickly able to gain my bearings as I walked from one set of monotonous grey corridors to the next, able to locate the specific loops and distances travelled amongst the maze of corridors displayed on the map. The constant drumming of footfall as the guards chased me had a nerve wracking quality to it as the sound distorted in the vents, and the omnipresent barking of the vicious guard dogs had me jittery every time I came to a corner. Shaking the fear, I looked back to the map. According to it, in about a hundred metres and a turn to the right there should be a security checkpoint that will take me closer to the administration complex.

As I approached the cross intersection ahead, I sidled up to the wall, shimmying along the concrete until I came to the edge. Peeking around the corner, I found two OSI agents guarding the checkpoint, just twenty metres down the hall, wearily keeping an eye out for me. They carried small carbines, and wore Kevlar vests; riot gear? They would have the advantage in a gun fight, the powerful weapons more accurate than my pistols. The size of the weapons would be cumbersome in close range, however. Closing my eyes and taking in a deep breath, I readied my weapon. The chain pulled taut as I brought the weapon up, the metal digging into their little tears in the flesh again, and I held in the yelp threatening to escape me. There was no key to remove the cuffs outside my cell or the torture chamber, so I would have to make do. Finally prepared, I sprung out of cover and dashed at the checkpoint as quickly as I could.

The guards fumbled with their weapons as I drew in closer, startled at my sudden appearance. As I came within three metres of the two, I dove forward, making myself as scarce a target to the gun-toting soldiers as I could. Landing on my left shoulder, I rolled forward until I was within the first guards effective range. Placing the barrel of my own weapon against his Kevlar bound gut, I pulled the trigger, leaving him to drop his weapon and move to clutch his stomach as he howled in pain. Gripping hold of his right arm, I ducked behind him, twisting the arm up his back until it let out a nauseatingly wet pop. Sending a strong, flat foot straight into the back of his knee, I brought him down to all fours. Ducking back to his side, I sent my foot reeling down onto the back of his neck. His face met the stone floor with a wet slap, and his body slumped to the floor with a soft thud.

The other guard swung a steel baton at my head, and I ducked to the side, dropping my pistol in the process. He was quick, instantly throwing another blow at me with the heavy metal stick, and again I ducked to the side, finding myself with the cold, grey concrete grating my back, my ass firmly seated on the stone, no way to escape the next blow. The guard knew as he drew in, the malicious glint in his eyes and horrific grin on his face enough to cause a stone to be cast in my gut. As he drew in, readying his weapon, I fought the urge to shiver in his wake. Finally, he came within swinging distance, his baton raised above his head in anticipation.

He swung the heavy metal weapon at me, and I reacted instantly. I brought my hands up, the chain strung taut between them. My legs curled up to my body, the knees digging into my stomach. The baton was fast approaching. Releasing the coiled energy in my legs, my feet shot towards the shins of my assailant. The baton collided with the cuff on my right hand, the steel clanging against steel with enough force to shatter the metal ring. Shards of metal tore into my wrist, the steel slicing through my blistered, scabbed, and bruised skin until they found their perch nestled in my bone. I screamed in pain as the cool metal drove in deeper, the excruciating fire burning through my arm enough to make me dizzy, and my empty stomach to clench painfully as it willed to expel something. My feet collided with the shins of my target, knocking his feet straight from under him. Unprepared for the attack, he fell forward. He slammed straight into the wall, smashed his head against the concrete, cracking his nose, blood now openly gushing from the wound as he slid down to the ground. Taking the opportunity, I leapt from my seated position, unbound hands grabbing onto either side of his head, and bringing it sailing down onto my knee. As it collided with my knee, it rattled my entire body, the shockwave resonating through my weary bones. He went limp in my hands, slumping onto the smooth floor just in front of me.

Struggling to breathe as I fought the urge to vomit, I looked to my right hand, slithers of metal dug deep into the flesh along the side and top of my arm. Carefully, oh so gently, I flexed each muscle in my hand, a gush of relief reviving my systems as I retained full mobility in the limb. With my spindly fingers, I pulled the largest splinters of steel from my hand, the metal slithering through my flesh with a cold sting as the jagged edges tore their way free. Blood dribbled from the wounds, pooling beneath me with every drop. Thankfully none of the metal cut an artery, or else I would have bigger problems. With a clang, the last splinter of steel hit the ground, and I sighed in euphoria, the slight sting a welcome sign. Picking myself up and steadying myself against the wall, I was thankful to be unbound from my chains. As I started to move, the cuff on my left hand wriggled and swung loosely around my thin, bony wrist, irritating the sealing wounds; perhaps I spoke too soon.

Retrieving the pass card and pistol from my waist band, I hobbled over to the security checkpoint. Swiping the card against the terminal, it beeped a negative, a red light buzzing overhead. I swiped the piece of plastic again, same response. They must've remotely deactivated the card; Fuck!

Growling, I knelt down next to the terminal, scouring its carapace for the slightest indication of a panel. Running my fingers along the steel, I eventually found a slight, invisible groove; perfect. Leaping up to my feet, I levelled my pistol at the groove, and fired three shots in quick succession. With the panel now buckled, I slipped my fingers into the gap and yanked. The panel cut into my fingers with each desperate yank, the blood seeping out warming the steel. Quivering from the exertion and the pain, I bit my lip and continued, yanking and wrenching, but to no avail; it wouldn't budge. Pulling my mangled fingers out, I balled my fists, frustration building up in me. Doubling back to the discarded carbines, I hefted the weapon up in both hands, aiming it at the terminal and opened fire. The recoil punched into my shoulder with each successive shot. The first shot dented the metal, the next shot buckled the entire panel, and the third pierced straight through, destroying the delicate circuitry inside. The red light above the doorway ceased, leaving in its wake nothing but absence; well, I wasn't expecting that.

Satisfied, I shuffled over to the doorway, resting the weapon in one hand while I slid the metal blast door open. The hallway ahead was pitch black, no light seeming to pierce the endless sea of darkness ahead of me; why would they do that?

The answer came in the form of a growl, one that hadn't been distorted and malformed by the echoing vents.

A massive, solid fleshy mass collided into me, knocking me straight to the ground. My head smashed into the cold concrete, leaving me dizzied and my vision blurry. Despite the hammering in my head, I responded on instinct, throwing my carbine up, straight into the maw of my snarling attacker. Its teeth met the ceramic body of the weapon, chipping into it as the beast itself thrashed about atop me, its lithe, muscular body keeping me pinned to the ground. I threw my knee into its gut, and the raving mutt only renewed its attack, knocking the carbine straight down onto my throat, my breath now failing me. Desperately, I flung my hand out, gripping for the pistol previously discarded. The dog hefted the weapon in its fanged mouth, and tossed it aside, snarling at me as its black eyes now diverted to my windpipe; at that moment, I felt the cold rush of fear settling deep in my gut. It dove down, prepared to tear my larynx from me, and I in turn swung my fist, catching it in its beady eye a hairs breadth from my throat. It whimpered as it lost its balance and fell to the side, giving me just enough time to scramble from under it. The beast recovered from the attack, barking hard as it readied its body for another assault. Too late, though, as I whipped around and levelled my pistol at it. It was felled as its knee cap, jaw and torso were riddled with lead, leaving a whimpering, shuddering husk of the mighty guard dog as it lay in a puddle of its own blood.

Shuddering myself, I got back up. I didn't have much time until the guards caught up with me; I had to keep going. Placing the barrel of my weapon against the dog's cranium, I regrettably pulled the trigger, putting it out of its misery; it would have been put down anyway, even were it to survive today.

Squaring my shoulders, I jogged into the darkness.

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Naoto Kozuki, Leader of the Shinjuku Resistance
September 26th, 2015 A.T.B.
Hakoneura Highway, Area 11

My fingers glided along the surface of the tablet, directing my forces along the digital, checked board which had become the location of my latest battle. My white soldiers clashed against my opponent's black, the pieces fighting for dominance of the tiles they resided and invaded. Along the left hand side of the electronic board sat the numerous black casualties who'd fallen prey to my forces, sitting under a wooden banner with my face etched on it, labelled 'Naoto Kozuki'. Along the right hand side sat just as plentiful white pieces under a blank banner with but one word across it.

'Zero'

This battle had consumed my attention for the past twenty minutes, a battle of wits favoured by the self-important nobility of Britannia. Whether he had chosen this particular game because he was a member of those insipid, bloodsucking parasites, or as a means to mock them, I don't know; quite frankly, I didn't care. This was a game I'd played many a time, and it was a game I thrived at. Many of the nobility had felt the sting of defeat at my hands, underestimating the cocky and boisterous teenager I was forced to gallivant as at those soul crushing functions, yet never had I faced an opponent as tactically apt as this. A careful stalemate had been maintained between us since the first piece had been taken, the two of us each striking out with precise, calculated attacks until the frontlines of this little battle had vanished altogether. With equal pieces on either side, it looked like this was to end in a draw; I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or disappointed by that.

When his knight charged and stole my queen, forsaking his king to the plentiful white pieces surrounding it, I gawked in surprise. Taking advantage of the situation, I pushed my rook forward, stealing the space not two spaces from the black king, trapping it with a pawn and my own king; this looked to be the checkmate to win this game. Sighing in relief, I slumped in my seat; Zero should be conceding the match right about now.

And to my shock, I was completely wrong. The bishop pairing with his queen, the one I had dismissed long ago as the two marched through my pieces, came rushing back, claiming my rook in a devilish attack, and springing the trap I'd just blundered into; this was indeed checkmate. I wish I could say I was disappointed, or even mad at the twenty minutes squandered against this 'Zero', but all I can claim to is the ridiculous amount of awe and respect welling inside me, and that is likely the most embarrassing part of this defeat. This time slumping in defeat, I waited patiently for Zero to reveal whatever point there was behind this game.

Not left disappointed, the tablet chirped, informing me of a new message.

'As predicted, you are more than capable for what I need.' It read, leaving me absolutely nothing to work with but a cryptic message. Opening the keyboard, I decided to play along.

'And what is that?'

'A stand-in' the response came instantly, leaving me to ponder the implications of such a request –no, not request, order- in silence. When the device chirped again, I looked down.

'Return the tablet to Sayako

She will explain'

Looking up, I looked to the Japanese maid –though I'm nearly absolutely certain that she is far more than a mere maid- who sat just across from me in the plush cabin of the limo, the dim light casting her kindly features in new, more sinister light, as if she belonged to the darkness. Giving the tablet to Miss Sayako, I waited patiently while she looked over the text box briefly, corresponding with her secret master quickly before setting it aside.

"As you are no doubt aware, the Japanese Liberation Front is commanded in part by Master Zero," She started, and I nodded, indicating for her to continue, "Master Zero has deemed to take in a protégé of sorts, in order to take over for him in his absence. You are the one he selected for this."

Stroking my chin in thought, I considered what I was being told. "But why me?" I finally asked, "I couldn't best him, in fact when it came down to it, I never had a chance; he played me from the start."

"You lasted a full five minutes longer than Master Zero's toughest competitor I have witnessed, and that was Lieutenant Colonel Todoh, the man deemed a strategic genius amongst the JLF." She answered, providing me with me with even more food for thought, as well as a slight swell of pride; better than the Miracle of Itsukushima was certainly something to be proud of. She continued, "You are also charismatic enough to gather the Japanese behind you, gathering a strong following and much respect despite your privileged status, a feat to be recognised. You also have the backing of a powerful noble in Pendragon-"

Sneering, the interest I had dissipating at the mention of him, I dismissed the last point, "I have nothing to do with that man."

"But he is still your father, and you can still use his resources, much the same way you did when you set up your resistance movement three years ago."

Glaring at her, I seethed "And how do you know all this?"

Her face remained placid, frustrating me slightly, "Like I've said, Master Zero makes it a point to know a great many things," and then she giggled, giggled, "You two aren't so different after all; I had my doubts at first."

If the comment was meant to diffuse the situation any, it certainly worked; I no longer felt any frustration at her words, and I don't know why. Seeing as I wasn't rebutting her anymore, she continued.

"As Master Zero's stand-in, you will have to direct the JLF in its engagements, and speak on behalf of Ashford Lamperouge Industrial to Kyoto."

I gawked at her, shocked, "ALI? That's the company funding Zero?" But that would mean that an Ashford was Zero, or possibly some close personal friend; but who? They'd lost most of their family friends when they were disgraced, and those they hadn't lost had died in the Japanese Insurrections just after the government conceded. Breaking from my thoughts, I stared Miss Sayako straight in her brown eyes, "When will I get the chance to meet Zero?"

Her lips formed a thin line, indicating the bad news I was about to hear, "I'm afraid that you will not be meeting Master Zero for a while; he has gone on an extended leave of absence," Her tone indicated that something far more sinister than a mere holiday was keeping Zero from being here.

Mulling over this, I decided to inquire further later; there was more pressing concerns at the moment. "If he is not here, how am I to learn what he needs done?" I queried.

Sayako seemed unfazed by this, so I can only assume that some contingency had been put in place, "You needn't worry; Master Zero had foreseen this circumstance, and prepared accordingly. You will receive instructions from him once you take your quarters. I will also be providing you with whatever information you may need as stand-in."

Nodding in understanding, I filed all the information away in my mind; whoever this Zero was, I found that I was eagerly anticipating meeting him. Taking my mind from the matter, I looked out the window of the moving vehicle, taking in the scenery before me; the mix of imperialistic technology and wild, uncaring nature gave the place a certain charm to it. "So, I assume we are heading to meet with Kyoto now?"

Sayako nodded, "That is correct," she then reached beside her, to a rather large case, "One last thing; you will need this," and she handed the case to me.

It was a peculiar metal case I held in my hands. At first sight, it was unassuming, as if designed to look as inconspicuous as possible, and for that very reason it stuck out. A slight globe in the centre indicated a rounded object hiding under the metal. Finding myself piqued with interest, my fingers found their way to the latches and I unclipped them with post haste. Within the confines of the case, I found a black, round mask with a single navy orb situated in the centre, taking up the majority of the face piece. Gold flora trimmed the mask, curving along the slick black face plate around the chin. Taking it up in my hand, I felt the many smooth notches adorning the outer rim of the mask, all curving up to give an almost demonic appearance to it. It didn't weigh much, and sat comfortably in my hands. Sliders lined the back, likely to fold down and form the mask into a helmet. Beside the helmet was a royal purple suit, also trimmed with floral gold, neatly folded. Last of all was the thick, black cape, trimmed as the others were. It was a costume, I laughed, but deep down I understood the purpose; it was a symbol.

"You don't need to wear it when meeting Kyoto, they already know who Master Zero is. But I hired you at a rather unfortunate time, it seems. Master Zero was to make his first public appearance to the soldiers soon, but he is otherwise engaged at the moment. You will need to wear that whenever you interact with the JLF."

Holding the mask in two hands, I stared into the dark blue orb that formed its eye. Looking back to Sayako, I concluded, "So I'm not just acting as Zero's liaison; I'm actually becoming-"

"Zero himself, yes" She confirmed. Zero; the leader of the Japanese resistance, a force that even Britannia recognises as an actual threat, and I'm to become him. Anticipation and anxiety fought for dominance inside me as I looked upon the mantle I held.

Suddenly, the mask felt so much heavier.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Prince Schneizel E. Britannia, Prime Minister of Britannia
September 25th, 2015 A.T.B.
Fort Hammond Penitentiary

"Thirty-two!" Commander Burrows roared, the fury radiating from every orifice, "He dispatched thirty-two of my men, and four dogs!" Gripping in his head in his hands, nursing what was likely a headache after the bureaucratic shit storm he'd been dealing with since this morning, "I don't know how many will be coming back at all, all thanks to that devil's spawn" He sneered, disgust dripping from every word that left his own repugnant little mouth.

I fought such a headache myself; between dealing with the Europeans, preparing for war with the Middle East and Africa, and Lelouch's arrival, I quite simply had no patience for the raving antics of the incompetent Spymaster of the OSI, especially his appeals to kill a child.

We stood in his plush office, laced with gold ornaments and silver trinkets, crystal and jewel encrusted finery, rich wooden furniture and gaudy portraits, and relics of ancient civilisations not ours; the relatively small room was clustered –though still meticulously well ordered, a testament to the man's own anal nature, I suppose- with symbols of status unbecoming of a spy. Perhaps if he spent as much time training his soldiers instead of gathering useless knick knacks, this entire situation could have been avoided. Instead, I now was forced to give up my time listening to half-hearted excuses and advocacy for executing the blemish on the man's record.

"I suppose it says much about the training of your agents for them to be so easily felled by a child," I quipped, dealing a hearty blow to the commander's ego. It would have been a successful blow as well, if not for his lug-headed accomplice stepping forward, his entire ugly head creased in a frown. How I wanted to scrub that unprecedented, pompous attitude from him in the very chambers he was supposed to have been commanding. I remained diplomatic however, a chastened smile still holding to my lips.

"That isn't just some kid," he started, pausing slightly as he leaned in closer and hissed, "The little shit is nothing short of a monster, empowered by the devil himself." It was vaguely amusing to see the incredibly thick Captain Campbell defending his master like a ravenous pit-bull; funny that, he reminded me of one in more ways than one. Thaddeus had always been an incredibly devout man with a fear of demons and magic that bordered on the paranoid; of course he'd try and blame the boys near escape on such things.

The door to the office opened behind me, indicating the entrance of Kanon. I was relieved he got here when he did, lest I burst out laughing at just how stupid Campbell's unrequited faith in both the Britannian Church and his snivelling little reign-bearer truly was. He walked past me, bowing his head towards me as he moved towards the desk, as was our custom in public. He placed a file upon Burrows desk, stepping back until he stood at my side once more, "According to the royal physician, there were no casualties, though nearly a dozen are expected to never recover from their wounds" he reported.

Burrows looked mortified, and rightfully so; it was utter humiliation. "He didn't even kill a single one? How does someone do that?" He whispered, stunned into a silence by the news.

Kanon seemed to enjoy the absence of the commander's usually smug demeanour as much as I did, as he took the opportunity to press the attack to the arrogant noble's ego without hesitation. "How embarrassing to have a prisoner nearly escape without even being forced to kill the guards he encountered, Lord Burrows; either the boy is extremely skilled or your agent's training is rather lax." His tone was nonchalant, but the implication of his words had the desired effect on Burrows, his mortification warping to utter horror at the allegations.

Burrows remained in shamed silence, but the brute forever catching his heels stepped in once more, "That boy is something else; something not quite right. How long did you say he's been working for the Chinks*? 'Cause I've never seen anyone move that fast, or with that skill. He is an abomination against the lord," Despite his obvious exaggeration and preaching, even I knew he wasn't far from the truth. Watching the video footage had been something quite remarkable, even in the brief snippets I saw.

"Since the age of three, if the dossier the Federation gave us is entirely accurate." Kannon replied, reciting straight from the file the Chinese gave us, "Apparently he and his sisters went rogue half a year ago; the Chinese couldn't find them anywhere."

"Oh?" I exclaimed, stroking my chin in thought. For this boy to have slipped through the Chinese hands was something remarkable; the federation didn't make a habit of letting any of their state secrets out of the country. Directing my attention to Kanon, I asked, "So how then was he caught?"

My aide frowned, flicking through the report he held in his hands, summarising the events as the head of security had detailed; thank god at least someone here was competent, "He nearly got out; got to the administration block. It would have been a clean escape if they hadn't locked the entire building down. They had to resort to filtering nerve gas into the room. Mister Shen used his blood soaked rags as a filter; rather clever, though not foolproof. Lord Burrows had to send in agents with gas masks and bean bag riot suppressors to knock him out after he'd shown signs of drowsiness."

As I pondered on this, Burrows must have grown a spine again, as he leapt forward, slamming his hands against the lavish desk he kept. "That boy cannot live; he is a threat to everyone around him. He is nothing but a weapon, and an animal, waiting to be unleashed," He demanded, though I quickly dismissed such an order; it would be a shame to just toss aside an asset such as Shen.

"I think your wounded pride is getting in the way of logic." I argued, charming smile on my face, flippantly dismissing him in a way sure to emphasise how little power he actually held in this situation. "It is evident that he is a perfectly capable warrior, why not utilize that skill?" Both Campbell and Burrows looked about to protest, but instead clamped their mouths shut. Good thing too; arguing with the Prime Minister was never a good idea, especially when the two were utter incompetents. Turning to Kanon, I ordered, "Have him enlisted in the Rehabilitation Legion."

As was his manner, Kanon bowed deeply to me, citing, "Yes My liege," as when I gave him any order.

Burrows looked defeated, completely and utterly, while Campbell remained as stubbornly fiery as when I'd walked in; he likely didn't realise what had just occurred. Indicating for Kanon to proceed, he placed his documents down on burrows desk, leaving two golden envelopes clearly visible atop the pile. Anyone working with the Britannia Royal Family knew what they were, and were usually a symbol to induce celebration and bragging amongst their recipients. "Oh and congratulations; you've both been promoted."

Both Burrows and Campbell were shocked as the golden glint caught their eye, both grabbing for their specific envelope and tearing them open with abandon. As their faces sunk, and even Campbell's dull mind realised what had happened, I held back a malevolent grin. I knew what the letters read, and it was sure to crush the ambitions of any man. 'General of the Judicial Rehabilitation Legion,' Burrows read, and Campbell's wasn't too different; promoted to Colonel, if memory serves me right. Remaining as congratulatory as I could despite having blatantly pushed these men's career into a dead end, I happily remarked, "The Rehabilitation Legion has always needed more commanding officers; can never seem to find enough."

Taking their silence and their faces –watching a man see his entire life destroyed in utter moments was something truly remarkable to witness- as my cue, I gestured for Kanon to follow me as I departed the gaudy, meticulously kept office and made my way down the stark corridors of the older prison, Kanon happily clinging to my heel.

"The sisters have been apprehended; they were found in Pendragon Central Square." Kanon reported after we left earshot of the office. "It took three teams of riot police to apprehend them,"

"Good; have them enlisted as well." I ordered, and Kanon bowed his head in acknowledgment

"Certainly my liege."

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

PLEASE TAKE NOTE
TORTURE IS INVOLVED
IF YOU ARE SQUEEMISH, DON'T READ

Lucas Shen, Chinese Agent (Renegade)
September 26th, 2015 A.T.B.
Fort Hammond Penitentiary

Burning.

I awoke to the pain of acid running through my veins, burning in an annihilating current as it networked its way through my body. I howled as my heart and lungs clenched, stopping their everyday motions as the poison wreaked havoc upon them. A feeling akin to being ran through by freezing, scolding steel made its way through my gut. I tried to bring my knees and arms to my chest, to roll myself in a ball, but the clicking of shackles and familiar touch of cold iron reminded me of my place as they burrowed further into my worn wrists and battered ankles. Breath would not come as my lungs tightened in my chest. Salty tears prickled at my eye as they were invaded piercing light, burning my unprepared retina. I chewed on my lips until they split as my mouth set ablaze, my saliva carrying a metallic tang to it. My fingers were wracked with spasms as the poison caught up to them, clenching them until my worn nails had dug themselves into the sparse muscle in my palm. My stomach began cramping, and my legs soon followed. I writhed and squirmed, desperately vying for blessed relief with every spasm. My chest felt like bursting as my heart stopped. I screamed for it to stop.

And then it was gone.

My breathing was laboured as my lungs unclenched. My heart thud in my ears as it restarted. My nausea dissipated as my stomach relaxed. Blood dribbled down my arms slowly, torturously slow, as my fingers uncoiled. The sting of the air as it sashayed past the open wounds was nothing compared to that which I'd felt just prior, and so I made no fuss of it. Being thankful for small graces was the only thing keeping me going.

It was then I realised the pinching in my neck, a heavy weight pulling down around my collar bones. Every movement was sore and uncomfortable, each twist of my neck helping to realise another sharp pinch. It wasn't cold, but it was hard, and denied my neck its right to movement. I tried to bring my hands up to feel at the object of my suffering, but once again I felt them tug painfully against their bonds. Deciding to wait for Burrows to reveal whatever plan he had in mind, I relaxed a little in my shackles.

As my eyes adjusted to the offensive light, I realised I was looking straight into beady brown eyes, and an ugly, scarred, square face, one I had become quite accustomed to.

"He's awake, Hiram," He called out, and vacated from my view, revealing yet another blank, lifeless torture chamber. Clanking and rustling filled the otherwise noiseless room; Burrows must be toying with his latest torture device. Groaning beneath my breath, in part from exhaustion from the torture, in part from the muscles uncoiling from their painful spasms, I tried to look up to see Burrows, finding instead a lovely metal tray with an assortment of odd, old looking tools upon it. In my dazed state of mind, I couldn't identify any of them.

"Good," He finally spoke, making himself known as he stalked over to me, a vicious smile barely hiding a snarl. I struggled to keep my eyes on him, but he fixed that as his bony, gloved fingers ran through my mop of hair, yanking my head up until we were eye to eye. "Did you like our little wakeup call?" he gave me a sickening grin as he asked. He let my head slump again, inciting the wrath of the thing on my neck. He leaned down, noticing my discomfort, and smiled, tapping his nail on it; sounded metallic. "It's a lovely little toxin derived from the venom in the Stone Fish, most commonly found off the coast of Australia. You'd best get used to it soon, because this collar isn't going to be coming off anytime soon, not as long as you're under my command." So that's what it was. But why collar me now, and not before? Burrows reached into his immaculately kept grey uniform, relieving the pocket inside of a small vile which he admired quietly. He motioned to Campbell, and my head was thrown to the side, smashing against the wooden board supporting it, the lug retrieving his hefty hand from my face, the black gloves now smeared with red. My mind hazy, yet still functioning, I felt a sudden drowsiness take a hold of me, though the usual fading vision refused to accompany it. Campbell wrest my head back into position, so that I was watching his leader once more

Twirling the vial about and snatching it, he turned to me, showing me the clear fluid inside. "It's an interesting little concoction; you see, it actually prevents the human mind going into shock. The effect lasts for hours even after the pain has dissipated," He explained, though I wasn't paying much attention. I was too focused on trying to stop the room from spinning. Burrows shrugged his shoulders, continuing on despite my lack of concern, "Technically, it is illegal to administer such a toxin to a prisoner of war; but you aren't a prisoner of war anymore, and the Geneva Convention doesn't say anything against using it against our own troops."

He paused slightly to let his words sink in, though was left utterly disappointed as I gave him an undoubtedly confused, blank stare not entirely directed to him. His face contorted into a spiteful grin as he contemplated me, moving face to face with me, bony hands clasping my jaw in his hands. "You know, the sting of a stone fish is said to be the most painful thing any human can suffer; I wonder just how accurate that is?"

All illusions of happiness or pleasure left him, leaving him the image of a bitter, twisted aging man. Tossing my head to the side, he muttered as he moved back to the tray full of tools, "You have ruined me, mutt, so let me return the favour."

Thick, gloved hands wrapped around my jaw in an instant, the tips of the fingers digging straight into the muscle. Surprised, I had no time to clamp my jaw shut. His leather bound extremities continued to push further into the muscle, disallowing me even the chance to close my mouth. The chains rattled as I was yanked off the wooden bed by my wrists, held up for a second as the table was kicked from under me. I was lowered to the floor, my toes just barely touching and my wrists being pulled in opposite directions by the sharp, old iron shackles. I looked up to stare Campbell straight in his beady eyes, defiant to the last. Campbell spat in my face, straight in my eye. I tried to flinch, but his iron grip kept my head rooted firmly in place; god, how strong was this man? With eyes now stinging, I made to glare at my captor, and felt a cold rush begin in my gut, paralysing my every muscle as it washed over me. In one hand, he bore a heavy set pair of cast iron tongs, crusted and old. In the other, he bore a small, chipped, rusted and worn knife.

He wore the devils sneer, and I jittered as he approached me, trying desperately to shake Campbell's grip. I couldn't help the welling in my eyes. "If you don't want to talk, that's fine. You never have to talk again." I struggled as he drew ever closer, thrashing harder, not caring for the pinch of my metal collar. Campbell, fed up with my antics, sent his other hand straight into my gut, knocking me clear of any breath. Struggling to breath and slowly succumbing to the despair, Burrows finally came into reach of me. I looked to him with pleading eyes, though this had gone far beyond any attempts of consolation.

With my mouth forced agape, Burrows inserted the old, crusty tongs into my mouth. With every adjustment the torturer made, the metal clanged against my teeth with force enough to rattle them. I wanted so desperately to close my eyes, to scrub the image of wicked delight Burrows face made, but I couldn't bring myself to. As hard as he could, the tongs clamped onto my tongue, the cold iron crushing the appendage with malice. My voice failed me as the flat pincers of the tongs squeezed my tongue so hard the veins running through the muscle ruptured, filling my mouth with the stale taste of iron as the warm liquid took away the tongs cold bite. Pleased to have the muscle firmly in his grasp, Burrows yanked and pulled and tugged upon the tongs until the connective tissue running the underside of the muscle tore with an audible, wet 'rip', then kept jerking. I kept trying to scream as he pulled harder, tearing the muscle further and further until he was satisfied with the bloody mass now clamped tightly in his metal pincers, wrenched so far beyond my teeth the torn flesh now rubbed torturously against them. I gasped as I fought to breathe through the pain, the blood gurgling every rasp.

Burrows ran the worn, rusted knife along the underside of my tongue, teasing the skin with every ragged scratch. The chipped edges caught on the torn flap of tissue, catching in every groove and bump in a tantalising slow, painful movement. I quivered with every repetition he made, my blood now trickling down my chin, tickling my neck as it soaked into my rough, worn tunic. My jaw shuddered involuntarily, only to be stamped out by the stone hard grip of Campbell. Burrows looked positively giddy as he continued ministration of my tongue with his knife.

And then he sawed. The blade was blunt. I screamed as the chipped blade tore and ripped and slashed through my tongue. The blade clung to each fibre of muscle, tearing them one by one in slow, agonising, jagged movements. My mind went blank as the slither of metal severed my tongue with each excruciating moment. Blood gushed all over his hand, staining his meticulously kept finger nails with red and rust. My mind refused to grant me solace, to grant me reprieve. I felt woozy as the blood continued to pour everywhere. The rusted steel kept ripping its way through my tongue. Everything faded to the back of my mind. I pleaded with any god out there to end me now; no answer came. Burrows remained pulling the piece through the sensitive flesh, his yanks and pulls timed to the throbs of blood. As the tip finally passed over the flesh, and the draw came to an end, I wept in relief.

But Burrows was far from finished, and my gut churned as he brought the blade back to my tongue.

And he did it a second time.

And a third.

It took four goes for Burrows to sever the appendage.

With one final yank, he tore the final fibres holding the muscle to my body, and discarded it over his shoulder. I needed to remain aware. Everything was fuzzy. All I knew was the pain in my mouth. My mouth was filled with something. What was it? It was warm. I couldn't taste it. I can't breathe. I spluttered. There's red everywhere. Got it on Campbell; hah! He isn't happy. My head's knocked to the side. What's going on? I can't breathe again. Mouth filled. What? I'm looking at Burrows now. He's opening my mouth. What does he want? What's that rod for? Why is it orange? My eyes widened. Realisation hit me. No!

He shoved a searing hot rod into my mouth. It hit the skin with a sizzle, cauterizing the remnants of my tongue, and anything else that got in the way. My teeth cracked as he bashed the rod against them. He plunged the near molten rod further, searing the back of my throat. I couldn't muster the energy to scream; only whimper. He continued swirling the hissing, sizzling rod about in my mouth, happy to render anything inside inoperable. Burns marred the soft, delicate innards, the uvula severed straight off by the near molten flailing. I sobbed uncontrollably as his hatred fuelled movements rendered my mouth useless, the agony now a dull ache that only spiked with every prod he made.

He withdrew his weapon from my mouth, leaving me with only suffering and the longing to speak. Burrows reached over to his little work bench, gathering a small pill in his hands. Campbell readjusted my jaw once more, leaving my mangled mouth open to the stinging, cool, damp air. Burrows placed the pill onto my sore, worn, cracked and scorched teeth, and Campbell clamped my jaw shut so hard I yelped. The pill capsule burst in my mouth, releasing some sort of liquid that mingled indifferently with the saliva, blood and other fluids already swirling about. My heart stuttered and fell as I realised I couldn't taste it.

"That wax in your mouth will start to dissolve in two weeks; it should stop the infection," Burrows explained, Campbell tidying up the utensils into their leather carry case. My breathing was shallow as he drew in, bringing his lips to my ear, hissing in a whisper, "Prince Schneizel wants me to keep you alive, so I have to; but when I'm done with you, you'll beg on your hands and knees for death."

I tried to spit at him, but my mouth was filled with some rapidly setting substance, drying it entirely. He chuckled at me, sending his own fist into my gut. I groaned as I fought to catch any air. My heart beat was erratic as I fought against the choking feeling now welling inside me.

And they left, turning out the lights. I hung by my wrists, shivering as the cold, damp air embraced my near naked body. As the darkness settled in, I tried to speak, to say anything. I tried to call for my sisters, plead for my mother or father, to beg for someone. Instead, I was met with gurgles and groans, nonsensical inhuman noises that felt monstrous even to my ears. I steeled myself as my jaw began to quiver, and my eyes felt wet; I wanted to break down so badly.

But crying would get me nowhere. So, with long, laboured breaths, I calmed myself.

"I will survive this" I shuddered, attempting to chant such a phrase to myself in the dark, nothing but the gurgled groans of a tongue split boy escaping my lips to comfort me. I may be just a tool to these people, without a purpose but someone else's, but I will never again bow my head to another's blade.

So I hung, nothing but the cold shackles to give me comfort.

TORTURE OVER
CONTINUE READING

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Nina Einstein
September 27th, 2015 A.T.B.
Ashford/Lamperouge Industrial Research Complex, Tokyo Settlement

It was gorgeous beyond compare, a testament to the will of man and the ever present march of development that spurred it. The buildings were gorgeously aesthetic, melding with the serene nature around them, the gardens and fountains blending with the delicate curvature of the building. It lacked the imposing aura I'd come used to within the settlement, or the terrifyingly feudal design lingering on the remaining Eleven sanctuaries. Stepping onto the secure grounds, bound by their floral disguised walls, it was as if stepping into the veritable Garden of Eden, so very serene and detached. The only sound making its way through the grounds was the trickle of fountains, tweeting of birds and the determined chatter of passer-by, dressed in lab coats, hosting clipboards in their arms, or even holding themselves with an air of dignity lost on most; scholars. In here, the problems of the world seemed to dissipate. My worries washed away with the gentle crash of water; this was paradise. A doubt niggled in my mind though; it was too perfect.

"Ah, Miss Einstein, it's good to see you've finally arrived," A voice called out to me, drawing my attention. Strolling over to me was a rather tall, burly man, flashing his pristine white teeth in a charming smile, a pleasantry not quite extended to his crystalline emerald eyes. He seemed the epitome of a prim and proper noble, with his carefully trimmed, golden brown hair, near flawless demeanour and his immaculately kept suit; though the slight tenseness to his shoulders and tightness in his face were evidence enough that he was no noble. It made me feel a little better, though the hammering in my chest at having to deal with someone so unfamiliar was proof of my anxiety. He held out his hand, which I weakly shook in return, my left hand pressed against my chest. "A pleasure to finally meet you; Mister Lamperouge has nothing but compliments for you, insists that you are the very brightest girl he knows. Arnold Kendrick, General Manager of this fine establishment, at your service," He quipped sycophantically, giving a slight bow to punctuate his words, and I couldn't help the heat rise in my cheeks at such an announcement.

"O-o-oh, n-no, I'm really not," I stuttered, averting my eyes from the overly gracious host, twiddling my fingers uncomfortably. His brow now set firm, his gracious façade slipped slightly.

"Ma'am, you wouldn't be here unless he felt you were the very best," his tone left no room for doubt, the unwavering loyalty he held more than prevalent in his curt rebuttal; I suppose I could understand why. He immediately fell back into his practised role, flashing a smile and gesturing towards the main building, "Shall I give you a tour then?"

I nodded my head quickly, hoping to abolish the slight blunder I'd just committed. Mister Kendrick seemed pleased, taking up the lead as we made our way through the majestic courtyard to the foyer of the research facility. "So, Miss Einstein, Mister Lamperouge has told me much about you in preparation for your arrival. I must say, I was surprised one as young as yourself was hired as an outside contractor, but after going through the theoretical notes on your research, I am glad that one as skilled as yourself will be joining the team."

I remained quiet, not knowing how to respond to the overly complimentary man; my cheeks still burnt, and I held my hands to stem the shaking I felt in them. As we strolled into the foyer, an excessively happy receptionist peaked up from her desk, beaming to us as she greeted us. "Good evening Mister Kendrick! And to you as well, Miss Einstein; I'm Daniella," She piped up giddily; she reminded me of Milly, "You can come to me if you have any problems, or if Arny gives you a hard time," She gave him a jokingly pointed glare to punctuate her point, "He has a terrible habit of picking on the newbies!"

"Only you, Dani," He jeered in response, and I found myself awkwardly shuffling as the two engaged in their banter. Finally, Mister Kendrick finished quipping with the effervescent woman, directing me to the hallways just beyond the foyer. Thankful at being able to escape any further unnecessary interaction, I hurriedly followed the older man. The corridors, while empty, were full of the barely audible mutterings and clinking and tapping of the many denizens of this facility, most working hard –some hardly working- on their newest projects, hypothesising and testing and tweaking. The very thought of being surrounded by like-minded individuals, all of which with their own ideas and working towards a similar goal was something I could have only dreamt of doing at my age. Inwardly, I cheered at the prospect.

"So I understand you're currently working on harnessing the true potential of Sakuradite," Mister Kendrick snapped me back to reality conversationally. Caught off guard, I toyed with my hands whilst attempting –mostly unsuccessfully- to hide my blush; his back was to me as he led the way, so I was saved the embarrassment of being caught, "Have you done much work on this project, Miss Einstein?"

"A-about two years of work, sir," I responded, and he turned to face me, eyebrow cocked.

"Sir? Please, just Mister Kendrick, or Arnold is fine," He turned back around, keeping to his former pace, "So what exactly are you investigating? I read your work, but I could you explain it to me in brief?"

Surprised at such a question, my stress built as my mind went blank; few people cared what it was that I studied, preferring to leave me to my own devices. Logically, the question made sense; I was in a laboratory after all. When I didn't immediately respond, he flashed me a charming smile, taking notice of my flustered expression, "It's alright, take your time."

Gathering my thoughts about me, I tried my best to explain my research. "I-I'm attempting to use the fission reaction of Sakuradite to catalyse a subatomic fission and fusion reaction. From my understanding, the reaction will generate both a heavy isotope of thorium and its antimatter equivalent, which will subsequently cancel each other out, producing an incredible amount of energy as the entire mass is converted with no by-products," I explained, pride welling in my gut as I briefed him on the basics of my research. He nodded in understand, thoughtful expression on his face.

"Well, I didn't understand anything in there apart from 'incredible amounts of energy', but I'm sure that it's ground breaking," He answered, leaving me floundering slightly as I fought another round of embarrassment; had I just come off as ostentatious? Had I misinterpreted his query as interest and understanding in science? I must have looked horrified, because he laughed a little, "I'm only joking, Miss Einstein."

Feeling a little betrayed by his teasing, I kept quiet as I continued tailing him. We trudged along in tense silence, him must've realising he pushed my boundaries a little too far. We passed a multitude of testing facilities, hangars and prototype bays, labs and workshops. I felt mesmerised by the equipment they fielded. The facility was enormous, and remarkably well equipped considering it didn't exist five years ago.

Mister Kendrick suddenly spoke up as we came to a doorway leading to K Block, breaking our tenuous silence. "You will be joining the team here in Block K; they specialise in investigating alternative energy sources, and streamline existing energy sources," He explained, "As of yet, it remains one of the smallest division of ALI, so as of yet we don't have all the equipment necessary to complete your research. I'm sure it won't be too much of a problem, but when the time comes, your fellow team members will run you through the requisition process,"

I nodded in understanding, moving towards the door separating me from my new lab filled with intelligent, stimulating individuals, something of a dream come true. Before my hand hit the doorknob, Mister Kendrick rested his hand upon my shoulder, garnering my attention and spurring me to face him. His face stern and demeanour serious, implicating the critical nature of what he is to say next.

"The work place is an entirely different environment to school," He started, I myself cemented to my position, caught in his thrall as he continued his speech, "you will face situations that may very well challenge you. Despite this, you mustn't give up, and you mustn't betray the faith of those that chose you over others."

I fought the urge to frown; he was just stating the obvious. That's why I'm here after all, to be challenged. Perhaps I'd missed something, some cause for the speech. Though butterfly's swarmed in my guts, threatening to tickle their way out, and the hammering in my chest was leaving me anxious, my hearing deafened by the roar in my ears, I felt ready to join this institution, to participate in the academia and march of progress. So, I did as anyone did when they wanted to escape a conversation quickly; I smiled and nodded. Mister Kendrick grinned at me, pleased at my acceptance.

"Good," And his grip slackened, letting me turn back to the doorway. "Oh, and Nina?" He called to me, drawing my attention back to him. He stood casually, about ready to make his way back down the other way. His façade was now entirely vanished, leaving nought but his stern, hardy gaze; so that's who he actually was? "If you ever feel out of place, or the stress of working here gets too much, don't keep it bottled in. My door is always open and if you don't feel comfortable with that, contact Miss Ashford," He paused, internally weighing options on whether to discuss the subject further. He face spoke volumes as he tackled the problem he faced with incredible speed, seemingly coming to the conclusion of, for lack of a better term, 'nah, better not', and simply added, "She's concerned about you joining the workforce so early in the piece," before marching off back whence we came.

I may not be as good at psychology as Lelouch, but I could tell that my age wasn't what the concern was about. Even were Mister Kendrick still here, I doubt I would have voiced such observations. Steeling my nerves, I shakily took the door handle by its silver handle. Besides, whatever concern they might have had, I'm sure I can overcome it; Lelouch must think I can, otherwise he wouldn't have set me up here, right? Taking a steadying breath, I pulled down the handle and budged open the heavy set door, revealing the cluttered lab, documents and spreadsheets strewn across the desks, computers compiling data as they simulated an experiment. A few heads turned to face me, all broken from their work at the sound of a newcomer. As their eyes settled on me, my confidence slipped, and I found myself rooted to the floor, unable to move or talk. I quietly hid whatever I could of myself behind the door, only barely peaking inside.

"Hello!" Someone finally called, drawing my attention to them

He was a middle aged man, likely of African descent judging by his complexion. Greying hairs peppered his thinning black, and the slightest wrinkles around his eyes led me to believe him a relatively happy man. His lab coat was marred with oil stains, marked with all manners of chemical streaks until there was more colour than there was white. His stature was stout and short, his face overgrown with facial hair too long to call stubble. His brown eyes were soft, scanning me with a carefully hidden critical gaze. I stood dazed in the doorway, barely breathing as I tried to make myself as small as possible

"You must be Miss Einstein, no? Nice of Kendrick to finally give you over to us." He finally greeted, the slightest sneer to his voice as he spoke of my guide.

"H-hello, a pleasure to meet you… uh?" I stammered, realising all too late I hadn't even gotten his name.

He seemed amused at my bashfulness, if his sly grin was anything to go by. "Kelly," He answered the unspoken question, "Doctor Michael Kelly."

"Thank you, Doctor Kelly," I spluttered.

"Come, let's meet the others on the team." He waved over to the accompanying crew room, where a small group of people sat, conversing and nibbling at biscuits and sipping at coffees and teas. It was such a mismatched group, the sheer diversity in ethnicities something I'd never seen before in one room, at least not in some sort of diplomatic light. As soon as I crossed the threshold of the room, I was immediately assaulted by the sound of an argument between two members, one a Hispanic male, the other a Caucasian female. My heart soared as I realised they were discussing the implications of altering the displacement of elementary particles constituting matter, and the differing views on that particular pathway as an alternative energy source, the male opposed and the female in support. An Indian man sat at the back, amusedly watching the intensifying debate whilst sipping at his coffee. On the contrary, a Britannian woman was struggling exasperatedly to focus on sifting through some information she'd regretfully taken to the break room with her. Another two Caucasian men were sitting towards the back, tapping away on their phones, likely playing some competitive game if their faces were anything to go by.

"Hey everybody, I'd like you to meet our newest addition!" Doctor Kelly called over my shoulder, drawing the attention of the group, "This is Nina Einstein, everyone! She'll be working with Tom in atomics."

The introduction was met with a variety of responses, ranging from interest to dismissal. I didn't mind though, as I tried to assert myself for once in my life. "H-hello everybody, a pleasure to meet you all," my voice wavered, giving away just how nervous I was. The crew all returned the greeting, the same response gave way. "So who is," I started, trying to remember the name Doctor Kelly just told everyone, "Tom?" I asked, half regarding my initial question and half in insecurity as to the correctness of the name.

"Oh, he's just moping in the corner there," The Hispanic man, Perez I think he said, answered, gesturing to a small alcove hidden from view of the door. Making my way over so I could properly introduce myself to the senior scientists, I prepared a small introduction; I would start off on the right foot. Then I rounded the corner.

My heart stopped for just a split second, and I fought the urge to vomit.

He was a teenager, maybe my age if not younger. He looked on me from the safety of his desk, shying away from everyone else. His thin eyes, smaller stature, black hair and darker skin tone marked him an Eleven. And he sat there, timidly looking to me. I was stuck in the same room as an eleven.

The illusion of paradise I'd deemed this sanctuary crumbled, my very core crumbling as I staved off hyperventilation; this was nothing short of a prison.

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Prisoner Lelouch Lamperouge
September 30th, 2015 A.T.B.
Henry VIII Penitentiary (II), Saskatchewan, Area 2 (Formerly Canada)

I was sat, shivering on the cold metal bench in a dark corner of the cell I inhabited, my person stripped bare of its clothes, its hair, and its dignity. My neck itched furiously under its metal collar, the cold iron aggravating the recently tattooed barcode with every slight movement. Metal cuffs bound my thin wrists, constricting around the bones tightly until my movement was entirely impaired. I silently cursed the extensive training Monica had me undergo, for now I couldn't even sit still without the tight burn and wretched aches my exhausted muscles wrought, their own pain struggling for dominance against the painful cold that embraced me. A faint haze formed with every exhalation, the steamy cloud punctuating the biting cold that jabbed my lungs with every inhalation. Every fibre in my body refused to believe it wasn't below zero yet; there's no way it could only be two degrees Celsius.

Dozens of men and women milled about the tiny cell, all stripped down and given nought but drab, plain grey underwear to wear, their hair cropped until only a light fuzz remained atop our skulls. The myriad of stories portrayed on their open flesh left me impressed and intrigued, the remains of piercing and tattoos, carvings and scars, all permanent reminders of the unsung tales. They were gruff, and strong, their bodies evidence of the harder life they've lived, all toned and fit, ready for the hardships ahead. Compared to them, I was nothing but a flea. If not for the cold, nor the ache in muscles making my time sitting uncomfortable, it would be the company I held. I, without a doubt, did not belong amongst these people, my sheltered upbringing and relative lack of worldly upbringing as much a curse as a privilege in these forsaken moments, something I now decided needing a remedy soon.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing in a shit hole like this?" I was broken from my mental profiling by a sultry purr against my ear, drawing my attention to a newfound companion in my dank corner. She watched me with golden eyes, her hair, though cropped, still held a rich chocolate colour. Her body was svelte and curvaceous, her buxom chest prominent –and flaunted- even behind the dull standard issue garb she wore. Her stomach was extremely toned, and her arms and thighs spoke of a strength carefully hidden. Her skin was a pale bronze, hinting at a Spanish ethnicity. Everything about her was provocative in nature, and the haughty smirk she wore on her lips was evidence to her playful nature. Judging by looks alone, I'd say late teens, early twenties.

With a deadpan, I played along with her little game, "Oh, just enjoying the view," I quipped, pointedly looking her over, making sure to take my time. Bringing my eyes back to hers, I continued, "Who could resist the allure of being stuck in a cramped, dark room with a beautiful woman and a pair of handcuffs?" Shaking my chains to emphasise the point, I finished with a small grin. "All that's missing is the whips, and I'm sure they'll bring those soon."

Obviously pleased with my answer, she sat down beside me, wiggling her hips against mine as she chuckled, "Hah, finally one with a sense of humour," She turned to me, her face now uncomfortably close to my own, "So how old are you, funny boy?"

"Too young for you," I retorted with a smirk, shifting a little further from her until I felt a little more comfortable.

Feigning hurt, she answered, "Ouch, are you implying that I'm old?" finishing with her same haughty smirk.

"Not at all, just that I'm young," I reassured, before adding, "I'm fourteen, if that makes any difference"

"Oh, you're right; definitely too young for me," She laughed it off, unperturbed by the revelation, "So what could a fourteen year old possibly do to wind up getting thrown in here?"

"High treason," I answered simply, receiving a surprised gawk from the woman.

"No shit? How'd you get out of being bullet ridden on sight? Didn't think they were so courteous to traitors against his holiest majesty," She remarked, emphasising her distaste for the title, eliciting a slight chuckle from me. She cocked her eyebrow, and suppressed her grin as she asked, "You didn't get caught sleeping with a princess did you?"

I held back a groan at the thought of sleeping with my own sisters. I might have tried to explain how that wasn't likely to happen, but I ultimately reconsidered as I came to the realisation I actually wouldn't be that surprised to find at least one of them –Guinevere, cough cough- in bed with one of my brothers. The very thought made my empty stomach groan; not the best way to start the day. In any case, broadcasting my heritage may not be the best idea, I decided a less descript approach was best. Swallowing the rising bile in my mouth at the thought of that shallow witch, I responded. "Not quite; just got on the bad side of the wrong people."

"I know how that feels," She slumped back into the cold wall, seemingly unperturbed by the chilled concrete, rolling her eyes as she told her own story, "I got dragged here after I killed some archduke in a duel; apparently the wife didn't recognise the legitimacy of the challenge and had me thrown in jail for murder,"

"Typical,"

"Probably didn't help that she caught me in bed with him that morning," She jeered with a wink, before her smirk left her face and her entire demeanour did a one eighty, like a switch had been flipped, "So, I was thinking that we should work together while we're here. We'd have a better chance of surviving if we're not alone."

Immediately, my already growing suspicions took a hold of me. Did she know my identity? Was she looking for a tool for leverage? I was by far the weakest here, of no use to anyone in this situation. I would likely only slow her down. Getting no answers from the limited information I had, I decided for a more direct route, "What value could someone as physically weak as me have to someone like you?"

"No need to feel so inadequate." She jested with a coy smile, "It's not about what you got, but how you use it, and a fourteen year old who can talk his way out of a firing line definitely knows how to use what he's got; you must either be the slickest viper in the den, or got enough of them wrapped around your finger to keep your neck. Either way, I figure that's far more useful than brute strength could ever be," She explained. The reasoning itself was sound, though there was obviously more to the story than that. I wasn't likely to get any more information from her now, so I'll let it be. Besides, by the looks of her she knows what she's doing, if the plenitude of scars lining her silken skin were any indication, both things I sorely lacked. A partnership may well prove mutually beneficial for the duration of this stint.

"Well, if you put it that way," I rebutted suggestively, matching her smile knowingly, "We'll need others though; even paired up, we don't stand much of a chance,"

The sound of clanking and rattling drew our attention to the door of our cell, where a platoon of heavily armoured, armed guards now stood, stun batons and riot shields at the ready. They didn't even need to say anything for the occupants of the cell to mindlessly shuffle forward and out the door, the relentless clinking of metal chains and shuffling of feet echoing our movements. Taking heed of the crowd, this woman –still hadn't caught her name- and I followed along, being carefully guided down a vast series of long, plain corridors, the cold air brushing past my naked body with every frigid draft. Shivering with every slap my bare feet made with the concrete. Once again, this woman didn't seem too phased by the cold, something of great envy to me.

"Name's Naishe by the way," She whispered to me.

"Lelouch," I answered simply as we ambled along, matching her whisper so as not to draw attention from the guards.

Ahead we saw the massive gateway leading to the isolated exterior of this facility, and beyond that a series of trucks, all outdated troop transporters, lined up. The small crowd from our cell met up with a writhing mass of bodies all standing in the chilling outdoors, piling into the troop transports slowly, and the guns of guards trained on us all.

I climbed onto the rear bumper of the nearly full truck, Naishe just ahead of me. I struggled to lift myself into the stuffed back of the truck, my arms straining to lift my weight and the digging of metal cuffs cutting off my circulation.

"Get in the truck!" The guard behind me yelled, before a sharp pain spread through my neck, and I collapsed on the steel deck, my vision fading to black and my skull throbbing painfully.

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24/6/2015

Dr Takahashi

On February 18th, you sent prototype 6-β-3 of the Electronic Disrupter to the Biology Dept. of ALI R&D to have any possible side effects examined. You cited a case in your letter wherein your assistant, Helen Gregory, experienced a "Mental Breakdown", in your words, after the device was activated. Whilst your analysis of the mental condition of your assistant seems to be in the order of exaggeration, we have reason to believe that you are not incorrect in assuming the device has an adverse effect upon the human brain. This particular issue had drawn the attention of psychoanalyst, Dr Fahim Shezad, and neuroscientist, Professor Hector Ivanov.

They performed several tests upon a variety of hosts, ranging from mice to humans, under different circumstances and proximities to the device. We have found that approximately 89% of all subjects experienced a change in attitude, either becoming aggressive or defensive. The change in attitude seems to become more drastic the closer the subject gets to the device. Dr Shezad believes that this has something to do with the fight or flight instinct being scrambled by the radiation the device emits. As of yet, no other plausible explanation has been put forward.

What was found to be the most interesting was the 'grace zone', as Professor Ivanov calls it. This is an area which the radiation has zero effect on the behaviour of the subject. How you managed to incorporate this 'grace zone' into the design of your device is incredible, as it is just large enough to allow a human inside without them being adversely affected.

We thank you for the work, but Dr Shezad must ask that you do not utilize this technology until you have worked out how to minimise the effects of the radiation as it may cause severe problems in the future.

Kind Regards,
Dr Melanie Finch
Head of the Biology Dept. ALI R&D

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*Gay. I meant gay, for any of those wondering. Bent as in not straight. Just thought I should clarify that. Not that I have anything wrong with homosexuality, just felt right in this situation, I suppose.

*Chink: A derogatory term for a Chinese person or anyone of East Asian descent, frequently used in the US, and UK (What Wikipedia says, anyways; my grandparents use it, so whatever). Therefore, the Chinks are the Chinese Federation.

And for those of you who skipped the torture scene, Lucas got his tongue cut out.

Surprise! I'm not dead! Shocking, isn't it? I could make up some excuse about why it's taken me so long to write this, but how many of you would care? Well for those who do, and I am not lying about this -I am just that unlucky- I have had to deal with: End of Grade 12, a health condition that renders my throat inoperable, pneumonia, change of computer, loss of hard drive, family falling to pieces due to my father having an affair earlier this year, family trying to repair itself after my father repented his actions, my younger sister catching a lethal strain of malaria and throat infection, my older sister catching an infection in her chest so bad she had to be rushed to hospital to drain it before she died, travelling between Papua New Guinea and Australia, going into boarding school, going into university, a broken laptop charger, work and a general lack of motivation. Believe me; I have already had a good laugh with my mother about just how shit last year was. But if you don't believe that, then that's fine; I wouldn't either.

Please give me your thoughts on this chapter. Whilst you guys have been following and favouriting this story quite a bit, I just feel that too little actual thoughts on the story are reaching my ears; or eyes, whatever. As you can all tell, this is going to be a tale of epic proportions, and so I'd like to hear some thoughts.

Oh, and I finally decided on pairings, seeing as a few asked about them. I'm not telling though, so have fun reading and finding out.

Ciao,

Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo