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.

4. The Prisoner, Act 1, Turn 4

A BRIEF RECAP:

Following Lelouch's announcement of his enlistment in the penal legion, Cornelia storms into his temporary accommodation for answers. There, it is revealed that Lelouch is a political prisoner.

A disillusioned journalist reported on Lelouch's public testimony of his capture, but questions arise to the Prince's anonymity and the corrupted footage of his arrival.

Meanwhile, an impressed Zero hires Naoto Kozuki, leader of the Shinjuku Resistance, as a temporary stand-in in his absence.

Lucas Shen attempts to escape his imprisonment from the leader of the OSI, Colonel Hiram Burrows. The attempt is a near success, but he is captured again at the last second. Prince Schneizel, who has been called in as a disciplinary consultant following the escape attempt enlists Shen in the penal legion, along with his sisters who were caught later that day. Burrows is disgraced, and promoted to a dead end job as General of the penal legion. As revenge, he severed Shen's tongue.

Nina Einstein starts her new job at ALI, but she soon encounters her first problem in the form of her newest workmate, a Japanese boy referred to as 'Tom'.

Lelouch meets a new face in his holding cell, a quick-witted and boisterous spanish woman by the name Naishe. They quickly form an alliance. All of the prisoners are herded into a truck, and Lelouch is let down by his inadequate strength. The guards knock him out and leave him lying on the deck of the truck.

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Proctor of the Twilight Empire

The Wolf Returns, Wearing the Skin of a Sheep

Turn 4

And Give Me the Choice of Hell and Death; I Choose Hell

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"Why didn't you kill all those men?"

"Did I need to?"

-Conversation recorded between then Prime Minister, Prince Schniezel el Britannia, and Prisoner Lucas Shen, 1/9/2015, 22:34PST (Pendragon Standard Time)

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Prisoner Naishe Ibarra

September 29th, 2015 A.T.B.

Saskatchewan, Area 2

With every bump and knock, my arse was slammed into the unforgiving steel bench, a frustrated yelp escaping my dry, frigid lips with every repetition. My pelvis ached as it was flung onto the cold metal uncaringly, nothing helping cushion it from this senseless punishment. Every movement knocked me from the warm spot my body shared with the metal pew, the new, cold touch on my bare thigh stinging my skin, gooseflesh prickling up my body. Gusts of wind rippled past, breaking through any semblance of protection I had, my bones aching under the cold torrent.

The roar of the truck's engine as it powered through the deciduous countryside was all I could make out. For the countless time this night, I felt a broad, muscular shoulder slump onto my smaller one, the weight of the sleeping lug knocking me over and crushing me between his rock like physique, and another none too softer. His snoring head slumped on my shoulder, the warm breath tickling far too close to my neck line, the moist snore snap chilling against my skin, testament to the brisk night I'd been staving off. My patience gave out as a trickle of drool slithered down my shoulder, catching in the strap of my bra, the cold now breaching into the fabric with renewed ferocity. Growling, I shoved against the hulking oaf, shoving him off me and back into his upright, sleeping position, something of a feat with my hands bound in the cuffs our captors hadn't deigned to remove.

Another bump brought the body of another prisoner to my feet, this one so slight that I'd forgotten almost entirely about him. In the midst of our warden's reckless driving, his limp body had rolled over to my feet, his face covered in the blood that mere hours before had been flowing freely from the nasty gash on the back of his head; head wounds always bled so much. His black hair was drenched in the stuff, the musty metallic reek thankfully absent in the wake of the intense maelstrom of air gushing through the unshielded bed of the truck in which we resided. His eyes were sealed shut, even through every bump and slam that abused his body. The disgruntled convict to my side –the awake one- grunted in annoyance, kicking the small boy away with a swift, uninhibited swing to the gut, sending him rolling to the other side and into another group of unsavory characters, none of whom seemed unfamiliar with dishing out similar punishments. Gurgling slightly, the boy coughed up another wave of vomit which gushed from his mouth in response to the abuse he was receiving, coating his already filthy features in a layer of bile and dribble before it settled in the grooves making up the floor. Bruises were already starting to form along his exposed flanks, even a few cuts and slashes from the exposed, unkempt feet and unrefined deck assaulting him, marring his almost pristine skin. He wouldn't die from the wounds, most likely, but he wouldn't have a pleasant time when he awoke.

Not able to watch any longer, I turned my eyes to the shadow of night passing by. Gentle hues of amber, gold, and browns flashed by in rapid fire succession, briefly brought into existence violently by the jerks and tugs of the truck, it's high beams cutting a swathe through the night, before their fleeting lime-light rushed by, the void of night consuming them all too hungrily. The dim silver of the moon reflected from the still pools of water about us, nothing but the moon and a trillion tiny pricks of light illuminating the midnight black lakes threatening to swallow the landscape. Above me, the entire sky opened up, the swirling of space dust and the twinkling of stars lit the sky, a beautiful artwork of white, dirty and pure, painting the black canvas of space. It was utterly gorgeous.

My enraptured state came to an end all too quickly as I was flung into the sleeping hulk at my side, the truck screeching to an unceremonious halt with enough force to slam the crates into the booth of the truck. The racket of metal and wood drowned out the thundering engine, and the boy –Lelou?- carried by inertia until he slammed into the crate with a soft thud and the disoriented groan of someone woken up far too abruptly. The hulk to my side growled at the reemergence to consciousness, sneering as he shoved against me none-too-kindly in a way that suggested the proximity was discomforting; my fists tightened, but I kept from nailing the sucker in the jaw for being the hypocritical bastard he was.

Hearing the crunch of footfall on crisp leaves, I found my attention drawn to three guards making their way around back, their thick, heavy clothing cloaking them in the dim light, their faces hidden behind the sneering helmet Britannian general infantry seemed to favor. With swift, callous motions they unhooked the latches holding the tray door in place. Not even deigning to speak to us, they gave a single jerk of their heads; 'get out'. They trained their weapons at the doorway, the silent threat challenging anyoneto dare defy their order. The closest to the door struggled out of the truck, some fighting against their bound hands to lower themselves down, others just simply jumping, only bothering to untangle themselves from the cramped truck once they were sprawled along the floor. The next row fared much better, jumping from the truck with a heavy 'oomph', sometimes landing on their feet, sometimes landing on their predecessors, a violent display of curses and unwillingly restrained blows against the offending party ensued, while the guards watched with what seemed disgusted disinterest. When it finally came time for me to disembark, I gracefully hopped from the tray to the soft earth below, the golden grass and fluttering, crisp leaves tickling my ankles, the moist dew tracing cool paths along my feet.

With the last of us damned souls vacated from the truck, all that remained was the semi-conscious form of the boy, and the crate behind him. Without even a sound, two soldiers marched up to the truck, weapons hanging loosely from their shoulders, as they climbed into the bed. The first walked by Lelou and moved to get a good hold of the crate. The second, however, grabbed the beaten boy by the underarm, yanking him up with enough force that the manhandled prisoner yelped, dragging him along the deck until they reached the lip of the bed, and hurled him into the wet, crisp foliage below with a solid, muffled 'thump'. Paying no more heed to the offender, the soldier marched back to the crate and assisted his accomplice in hefting it up and to the cusp of the metal tray. They unlatched the sides, the laden wood containing the contents within toppled to the ground, piles of fabric and leathers tumbling into the wet grass.

"Get dressed." The soldier behind us ordered, his automatic weapon still trained on our group; more than enough to cut us all down if even the slightest hint of insubordination arose.

One of the other prisoners stepped forward, shaking his shackles for emphasis as he sneered at our warden, "How are we supposed to do that with our hands tied up, jackass?"

"Not my problem," the soldier shrugged, keeping his weapon trained on our merry band, especially the prisoner who stepped out of line. Frustration coiled itself in my gut as I moved over to my newest comrade, attempting to bring him back into consciousness to little avail; how the hell were we supposed to fulfill an order impossible to do?

"Don't be an asshole, Jensen," came the relieving response from one of the other guards mounted on the truck, "The sooner we dress these poor fucks, the sooner we can get them marching to the rendezvous point."

"Fine," he conceded, tapping a button along his forearm. A small, high pitched beep sounded from all of our cuffs, and they slackened from their iron grip, enough so to allow us to remove them. With my hands unbound, I continued in my efforts to rouse the disoriented boy, bringing his head up and gently shaking him; Jesus, he was light. With naught but a moan from him, I realized he was stuck in limbo between realms of consciousness. Sighing, I refocused upon the next task at hand; nudging and pushing my way through the ravenous mob stripping the contents of the crate bare of any clothes.

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Prisoner Lelouch Lamperouge

September 29th, 2015 A.T.B.

Saskatchewan, Area 2

It was the floor that eventually roused me, the soft squelch both forgiving and abusive, my weary bones and cramped muscles crying out against the torment. Rocks and dried grasses stuck my skin, a hundred hard pricks jabbing my ribs, arms, legs, and any other flesh they could reach. Soft breezes brushed stiff grass against me, the dead, overgrown blades rubbing their early morning dew against my bare hide, the freezing water trailing its icy path down my frigid skin. An involuntary shiver wracked my body, violently announcing the many unformed bruises crying beneath my skin

Trying to relieve my face from the stiff points of the ground, I shifted onto my side, attempting to roll myself onto my back. The bruises screeched as they felt my weight against them, and my head crushed as if suddenly remembering that it hurt. Nausea washed over me, the pain demanding I expel what isn't there. My entire gut cramped as the worn muscles stretched to their last fibres, their violent spasms crushing my stomach in an attempt to bring the non existent contents forth. My weak body was wracked with violent heaves. I felt my throat constricting, and my lungs burning as my body ignored the need to breathe. Tears spilled as I fought to reign in the pain.

The sudden thump of blood through my head aggravated the constant hammering pounding within my skull, crushing my brain as it warped sounds, sight, and smell until one was indistinguishable from the next. My willpower drained, my only anchor to the earth the pain wreaking havoc on my frayed mind, and even that was now slipping.

I awoke again , groggy and tired, as a wet rag schlopped on my face, the sudden chill jumpstarting my frazzled nerves, the sudden gush of sensory data overloading my mind as I struggled to grasp what it was I felt, tasted, or smelt. As my senses resumed, the pain remained persistently present, though far more manageable, like a distant hammering in the dark.

"For a twig, you sure did make a great football." My ears strained to hear the hushed jab, the sultry purr muted not in intimacy, but in caution. A gloved hand jostled me slightly, trying to stir me, "That's enough beauty sleep, pretty boy," she paused slightly, chuckling, as she took a large whiff, "You definitely won't be scoring the girls smelling like you've been rolling in dog shit."

A heavy groan slipped my lips, my muscles battling a war of attrition against gravity. Freezing water dribbled down my neck, the rag still draped across my exposed face. My lungs struggled to intake the air beneath the wet rag. Lazily, my torso left the ground, bringing myself upright from the chains of my earthy bed until I was sat on the cold ground, the rag slowing slipping down my face, torso, then legs until finally it pooled on the ground beside me. My neck creaked as the muscles unwound from the awkward position they'd been resting.

"Aha! Sleeping Beauty finally awakens," she jeered quietly, and I bit back a scowl at her apparent apathy towards my pain.

"Really? You think I'm pretty?" I replied, my voice droll and my face blanched and eyes sealed as I clutched my head, quelling the sudden gush of hammering now ringing between my ears, "Maybe sempai will notice me now."

She chuckled, and lightly slapped my shoulder, the sting spreading like wildfire beneath my hide until it burned through my entire left flank, "You're a smart-ass, you know that?"

"I do try," I mumbled, the headache finally alleviated enough that I might open my eyes. Naishe was crouched beside me, her golden eyes gleaming jovially in the light of the moon. Her head was wrapped in a rich blue head bandana, and she wore a thick, faded, full green jumper over her torso ; well, I assumed it was originally green beneath the patchwork of varied materials and colours that it had now become. Peeking from beneath the worn elastic waistband was a white shirt, dirtied and stained by god knows what to an off-colour cream, the ends frayed and the fabric ratty, so large on her that even with the worn leather belt she wore, the ends still sagged nearly to her knees. Beneath that, she wore black thermal leggings, far more modern by comparison, though not any less torn and resewn than the jumper. Finally, to complete the ramshackle outfit were two military boots, both too big, both stripped almost bare through overuse, both from different eras and placed neither younger than the turn of the century.

"Seriously though, you absolutely reek. Can you please clean off the vomit and blood before you start to attract the flies?"

A quick glance down confirmed her claims, the bile and blood clung to my skin in a revolting, slick brown. Taking up the rag pooled at my side, I wiped away the sickly fluids with each staggered swipe, the tattered cloth stinging as the threads clung to each wound it uncovered. The skin revealed with every wipe evidence of abuse while I was limp, the pale skin marred by jagged arches, split and swollen. A brief examination confessed the cause.

"Scratch marks? Did they kick me?"

"Well, you did slump on them," she shrugged, grinning slightly as she passed off what happened.

Aghast, I retorted, "I was unconscious!"

"I think they went a little light on, to be honest,"

"Why didn't you stop them?!" I demanded, exasperated.

"Well, you're not dead yet, so it can't have been that bad." She argued, before mumbling under her breath, "Though you could definitely stand to toughen up a little."

"What was that?"

She ignored me, reaching for something behind her, "Oh, I also forgot, I got you some clothes for when you clean up." Her eyes brightened, remembering something else as she reached beneath her jumper, "Which reminds me." She withdrew her hand, exposing a steel flask, the pungent alcohol inside enough to distract me from my own reek.

"Where'd you get that?"

"One of the guards gave it to me," She answered, her faux innocence clearly an act. I cocked my eyebrow at her, and she conceded with a grin, "Ok, fine, I took it from them. But I figured we'd need something to sterilise your wounds,"

"We wouldn't need to if you'd just stopped them from hurting me in the first place," I mumbled under my breath, eliciting a small scowl from her

"Do you want me to sterilize your wounds or not? Nail marks can cause nasty infections" She reminded, glaring slightly. When I didn't respond, she continued, "That's what I thought."

Tearing a rag from the hem of her oversized shirt, she poured some of the alcohol onto the misshapen cloth and handed it to me. "You clean the wounds on your front, I'll get the one on your back," and she repeated the process, skulking behind me.

Her ministrations were sharp and gruff, a hidden strength in her lithe arms revealed as the scratchy material dug into my already sore skin, catching in every tear. I yelped slightly as she dug it into another wound, the sharp sting of alcohol and the subsequent chill demanding I admonish her on her 'care'. "Ouch! Be careful with that!" I exclaimed, and she jolted slightly, in what I'd assumed was apology. Instead, with a deadpan face she feigned care.

"Shit, I forgot to pick up that cup of cement so you can harden the fuck up," Realizing this wasn't a matter of debate, I withheld any further comment as she continued her assault on me as I –gently- swabbed my wounds with the alcohol. With a final dab to the back of my head the rapidly cooling alcohol evoked a shudder from me and Naishe came back to my fore, a coy grin on her face. "There, done. Now, you'd best get dressed. I don't think little Lulu could handle much more shrinkage," She glanced down to the only clothing I wore, her grin diminishing none. I fought the blush building in my cheeks; doing so would only incur her wrath further. She must've realised she wasn't going to receive any further reaction from me, as she pouted slightly, handing me a stack of clothing, bound by leather

The bundle unravelled into a jumble of mismatched clothes. I pulled out a pair of tactical camouflage pants, threadbare around the knees and otherwise tattered, remnants of an era of guerrilla warfare against alleged 'terrorists', likely to do little against the chill given their condition . Next came a mottled shirt, the original long since destroyed until it was nothing more than scraps of sun-bleached charcoal held tenuously by rags cannibalised from other, less fortunate items of clothing. Two boots cluttered on the ground, both with the same problem as my newest de facto accomplice, a pair of socks inside so dried and stiff I swear I could bludgeon someone to death with them. I equipped a pair of old, very old gloves, ones I'd only seen used in trench warfare, several of the woollen fingers torn free, but the warmth freely given was a blessing I wasn't about to turn down. The leather that had bound it all together turned out to be a trench coat, in remarkable condition considering everything else; probably some petty superstition given its association with a Euro-Britannian Death Squad and its commandant. Finally was a navy blue beret, probably belonging to some European regiment, but I didn't care for that; the warmth in my ears cared little for the origin for the pompous beanie. As I considered the get up, and that of Naishe, questions arose in my mind; where did this vast array of clothing come from, and why was it so battered?

As soon as I finished donning my new gear, the boots stiff and unforgiving and the clothing near useless against the elements, I heard the undeniably chilling, hollow vocabulator fitted within Britannian infantry helmets. "Oi, what are you two little shits up to?"

The speaker emerged from the veil of shadows, the pointed, permanent glare of the helmet scowling down at us with malice incomparable to any other. "Wait a second," He paused, before approaching, his heavy boots crushing the dried foliage below his feet with every step. As he drew to my side, I shuffled away slightly, though to no avail as his gauntleted hands gripped me by my collar, hauling me up and off my feet until I was now eye level with his chilling visor, "You're the brat Lady Kruszewski warned us about, aren't ya?" he growled, so quiet even I could barely hear him.

My breath came out in ragged gasps against his hand, my lungs struggling against his firm grasp. The helmet continued to glare at me through the dark, the dull silver of night casting off the ghastly features, a primal fear stirring in my gut.

And as if forgetting me entirely, he discarded me, my body slumping to the floor, my bones creaking as they made contact, and he stalked off, mumbling something about, 'better not cause any trouble'. As I recovered from the minor shock at what happened, the weight now suddenly pressing against my breast controlled my entire attention.

"So, what did Mister Sunshine and Cuddles give you?"

Her voice startled me, having forgotten she was even there to witness the event, "Sorry?"

"I saw him slip something into your pocket, I'm not blind." She answered, placing a hand on her hip to emphasise the severity of her statement, "If you don't show me, I'll just have to take it from you,"

I silently cursed her excellent perception; keeping the present hidden would have been preferable. Damn that soldier and his oh-so-subtle method; at least he kept rather quiet about my benefactor. If anyone figures out my identity, I may as well be signing a death warrant; I can't imagine princes are regarded favourably in prison. Not even a soldier helping me would spare me from that wrath. Glancing at the expectant Naishe, I considered my options. She knew I had something, and she wasn't likely to give up unless she saw it. I had nothing else on my person to fake as the gift. Unless she was involved in Takahashi's project, she'd likely not even know the significance of it anyway. Sighing dejectedly, I reached into my breast pocket and revealed the wrist watch hiding within, "Very well."

Snatching it from my hand, she examined the device with a careful, trained eye, looking for anything outside of the norm; not that she would, considering the demure nature of it. Dejectedly, she admitted ignorance to its true intent, turning to me for an answer. "A watch?"

"Very observant, miss super sleuth; any other observations on hand?"

The sardonic reply didn't seem to garner much favour, as she glared at me slightly. "Oh ha ha," She responded in turn, her sarcastic tone broadcasting her irritation. She gave me back the watch, feigning indifference as she did so, "Well, unless it's got a hidden laser, or some other trick equally third rate James Bond knock off, I don't know what use a watch will be." She paused slightly, slowly mulling over something, "So how did you sneak it in anyway?"

I considered the question, before cautiously responding, "I just asked an old friend to sneak it in for me,"

The answer seemed to please her, as she grinned maliciously and exclaiming, "So I was right; you do have connections,"

A gunshot startled me, a sudden, sharp bang in the midst of silence, my attention drawn to the silhouettes of soldiers and prisoners moving away from the back of the truck. The same hollow voice from before called out once more, the heavy tone emanating through the air without any competition in the still night. "All right, fuckers. We're moving out. Follow me, single file. Anyone step out of line, and your heads will be missing in a heartbeat."

We followed the order obediently, quiet and without question, a testament to the regimental, brutal prisons these convicts spawned from. Even Naishe and I stood ramrod stiff, not a peep escaping either of our lips as the other soldiers took up the rear. With their weapons now trained on us, their visors trained on our backs, the gruff soldier, my hidden ally, led us forward into the night, only the rifle mounted lantern casting light ahead of us. I carefully followed the silhouette ahead of me, the treading of boots behind me affirming me of Naishe's presence, her footsteps far more controlled than my own stumbling in the dark.

We marched through the dying foliage, the coming winter's embrace leaving the trees and grass withered, the crisp grasses pricking into my clothing and irritating my skin. With every hill and rock we climbed over, my breath left me until I was left a panting, heaving mess, my lungs burning as they struggled against the taut muscles in my chest, but I continued, pushed by the rifles trained at my back. The leather boots dragged against my skin, the friction burning and stretching the skin until blisters welled on my feet, the stiff, tattered socks grating against them with every drawn, raw step. As we trudged on, we passed through an ankle deep stream, the water a bare trickle against my leather bound feet. Another step forward drew mud through the worn soles, a shudder taking my spine at the sudden contact with ice water; Naishe made fit to chuckle lowly every time it happened, eliciting a scowl from me that only seemed to increase her amusement. Mud washed into my shoe, the cursed stuff breaching the holes left in the soles of my boot, soaking into my socks until all I felt was the squelch of mud against my feet. My only consolation was that even in the wintry night, the cold now bit just that little bit less. With that to comfort me, my mind hazed by a million thoughts and plans until reality slipped away.

When the distant, idle hum of chatter droned on the still air, shattering the silence that had been broken only by the sound of uncomfortable shuffling, trudging and trickles and ticks of nature for the duration of this seemingly endless slog through the Area 2 wilderness, I was thrown back into reality. We emerged from the thicket, the night suddenly washed away by intense light, illuminating a crowd of thousands, their mismatched clothing all easily visible under the brilliant lighting. We continued to push forward, moving in to join the crowd ahead of us. Lining the rim of the mass of people were soldiers, dressed in the haggard clothes we wore, with the addition of some older flak jackets, and armed with what looked like gas operated weaponry. Our escort turned to us, his gruff demeanour changed none throughout the trek, and called out to his companions, "Well, our job is done. Let's get out of here; I feel dirty just being around all these traitors," He gave us all a pointed glare, before marching past us.

With the soldier escort gone, it gave me some time to analyse the surroundings. We seem to be situated by a lake, a massive concrete watchtower, probably centuries old considering the condition, sat along the shoreline, a VTOL transport sat atop the cobbled stone structure, a long film of white was clung to the front face. All of the regular infantry were gathering atop the structure, their numbers rather small by comparison to the other soldiers, those dressed in the mismatched uniforms, who were tightening their grip on the crowd, moving more towards the tower. Naishe made to move forward into the crowd, no doubt feeling a sense of security in the bustling mob. She must've seen someone, as she kept making small gestures to an anonymous individual in the crowd, pushing us deeper and deeper into the shifting bodies

And as I came to the realisation of what was wrong, I grabbed Naishe by the wrist, pulling her back towards the edge of the crowd again. But it was too late. The lights dimmed, and the crowd hushed, packing in tight towards the tower, so much that I could hardly breathe, let alone move. With quivering knees, I faced the centre of it all, where the light of a projector illuminated a middle aged man's face, crinkled with lines and a tired frown etched on his stony features. His dark eyes peaked from beneath his maroon cap, looking over the field with blatant disinterest bred from repetition. With a sigh, he started his speech.

"Let me get straight to the point; you're all here because you have committed crimes against the Holy Britannian Empire, and were stupid enough to get caught. Now you've decided to serve your sentence in my legion, so you're either on death's row, mad, or stupid. Not that it matters to me. However, there are too many of you; nearly fifty thousand, in fact, spread across five different outposts much like this throughout these training grounds. I honestly don't know where they find you guys, but that isn't my business. My business is to find ten thousand of you –maximum- worth sending to the front lines. I don't know why they don't just send all of you, considering how they use you, but that isn't my decision." He shrugged slightly, uncaring as the crowd slowly descended to a barely contained panic.

"Those collars around your neck aren't just pretty necklaces. They monitor and track your vitals and position. Outside of that, they're also fitted with disciplinary measures, because pitting you all against one another was a brilliant idea and all for cooperation." The image changed focus, three individuals knelt down, forced to bow their heads in reverence with their hands bound now taking up the screen.

"Regardless, they have three settings. Electric shocks for minor infringements," The leftmost prisoner suddenly screamed, his body convulsing, the skin about his neck sizzling, the collar screeching as it released the pent energy into the poor man. As the charge dissipated and the man settled, the officer continued speaking.

"Neurotoxin for major infringements," The woman to the right screeched, clawing at her collar and flailing about, her muscles pulled taut beneath her tight skin. Blood dripped from the scratch marks she drew in her flesh, her screams bloodcurdling until eventually they turned silent. She writhed about in her chains, her face pulled back in something beyond pain, no noise escaping her mouth as if the speakers were suddenly muted. Finally, she calmed, slumping to the floor, panting desperately.

"And explosives for immediate execution," And the centremost collar detonated, catching the other inmates in its blast. The camera lagged over the corpses, the flanking bodies singed and stripped by shrapnel, while the perpetrator was torn asunder, his torso completely shredded into ribbons of flesh.

The camera panned back to the officer, who looked exhausted by the display. "Please, obey all rules when they're given. The collars are expensive, I'd rather not blow the budget cleaning up after a wannabe upstart. Oh, and any attempts to tamper the functionality of the collars will immediately detonate them, clear?"

Everyone stood still, shocked at what we'd just seen. Psychopath, serial killer, traitor, thief or framed, we all gaped at the sheer apathy at the brutal murder. I yanked again on Naishe's hand, but she stood rooted to the floor, golden eyes wide in terror.

The officer indicated to the regular infantry about him as he explained, "Behind me are Britannian soldiers. They are your wardens for the duration of your stay here. If anyone even thinks of attacking them, you can expect to lose your heads pretty damn quick. They guard the border of this state; if anyone even comes close to the border, they will kill you without hesitation. The other soldiers, the ones dressed like they're part of the Chinese army, are penal legion troops. Their job is to 'train' you all; don't let that fool you, their actual intention is to kill as many of you as they possibly can. You are allowed to attack them when they attack you; in fact, knock your socks off. They still haven't served their sentence, so they're fair game."

"Oh, and a message from our illustrious General," the image changed to that of a mug shot of some boy, probably younger than me, with jet black hair cropped like all of us, and deep navy eyes, bloodshot and glazed from a drug of some variety. His gaunt face sported swollen cheeks, split lips, and countless bruises. I would've passed him off as some drug abuser who got on the wrong side of some noble, but the way he held himself, the sharp, measured gaze to his slackened eyes, and the controlled manner he exuded spoke of someone far deadlier. 'Lucas Shen', the name card read, which triggered something in my mind; why was that name so familiar? Shrugging it off, I looked back to the boy's photo. He didn't look very Chinese despite his name, outside of the slant of his eyes. His skin was paler, more Caucasian, and his face more angular; probably some European blood mixed with the Chinese. The officer spoke again after a pause, letting the image soak into our minds. "Whoever kills Shen and brings proof of the kill will be granted an immediate reduction of their sentence by two ranks, and anyone level four or below will be receive instant amnesty of all crimes."

That stopped me in my tracks. Why would the General of the Penal Legion put such a big bounty on this boy? This entire ploy is used to draw out the weak ones and kill them, so unless someone was basically guaranteed to live through this preliminary stage, there was no point to actively try to kill them. Besides, why not just detonate their collar and get rid of them like that? Unless they were under someone's protection. If someone was protecting them, why didn't they just stop them from joining the legion?

The officer spoke again, breaking my train of thought. Looking back to the screen, I found his back was facing us as he slowly marched back to the VTOL, bidding us farewell with a two fingered wave.

"Right, now that's out of the way, you'll find weapons and armour in the crates in front of you. Help yourselves. I'll be back in two months for whoever remains,"

And as the officer boarded his transport, the screen cut dead, the lights now completely out. Now standing in complete darkness, nothing but the beating in my chest and the shallow breaths of ten thousand or so doomed souls to be heard, I felt my knees buckling. When the Legionnaires raised their rifles, my legs stiffened again, my feet cold as they prepared to flee. My grip on Naishe's wrist only tightened.

And then the silence was broken as the archaic, wooden stocked bolt action rifles fired, the thousand rifles releasing a sharp 'crack', the magnitude of which exceeded that of any firearm I'd ever heard. As the first victims fell, the crowd descended into chaos, my grip on Naishe thrown as someone slammed into me, knocking me to the floor.

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Schneizel el Britannia

September 29th, 2015 A.T.B.

Castle van Daum, Pendragon

I inwardly cursed the day Father deigned to recruit a confirmed psychopath as one of his elite guard. A man of his nature, while easy to manipulate, tended to be far more trouble than they're worth. And if they happened to be aware of you as a manipulator, they became incapable of being reasoned with. His worth as a combatant was vastly outweighed by the inherent danger of his own nature. Or at least, that was how I rationalised my immense distaste for the man and his questionable tastes. Which brings me to my current dilemma; the invitation I'd received from one Luciano Bradley, Knight of my Father, to come and join the festivities accompanying the opening rounds of the recent favourite sport amongst the nobility, an invitation not declined lightly, despite my status as Prime Minister of this nation. It did afford me the courtesy of arriving considerably later than was acceptable in most company.

With a barely concealed sigh, I left the safe confines of my limo, my ornate, white coat gliding to fit my form, the gold gleaming in the light of the evening. Kanon held the door open for me, revealing to me the shameless attire of the many 'servant' women lining up to greet the incoming guests, their attire more fitting to a sultans bedroom than to the polite company that comprised this evening's festivities. The false smiles and pleading, desperate eyes they wore as they cheerfully greeted the remaining guests still yet to enter the castle, coy and erotic reception gladly received by some and not so by others only drew my scorn for the man further. Was it not enough that this Euro-Britannian trash should demand my presence without flaunting his preference for the hedonistic? I suppose that's to be expected of someone of his heritage.

Striding forward, I received greetings from the servers and the guests which I politely reciprocated. Moving past them and towards the entrance, I couldn't help the antipathy I felt for the gothic aesthetic that had so endeared the knight. Its entire design was completely out of place amongst the regalia and lavish modern villa and palace surrounding it, its droll greys and immense buttresses both impressive and incredibly depressing. I swept through the massive archways that constituted the doorways, the immense, antiquated wooden doors creaking on their cast iron hinges, a testament to their age and weight. Gargoyles hung from the walls, watching passer-by with their beady, stone eyes, chilling me as I passed their demonic forms. The charcoal furnishings held tributes to the conquests of the Knight, honouring the hunts, wars and women he so enjoyed. The floor was stone, blending with the walls to make a dreary foyer, the only colour a blood red rug running to the next doorway and to the common room, where everyone was no doubt gathered.

"I see Sir Bradley hasn't livened the place at all since our last venture here," Kanon commented, false smile on his lips as he greeted the passer-by with me on our journey to the party.

"I would recommend an interior decorator, but I'm afraid his masculinity complex would spark up at the mere suggestion he was incapable of something. The last thing we need is for him to surround himself with even younger women dressed in nipple tassels as compensation," I remarked, Kanon snorting as he attempted to quell his laughter.

I graced into the common room, evading the announcer who was bound to inform everyone of my arrival, something that would bog me down in pleasantries for the better part of the night. I could see Bradley milling about, surrounded by a variety of cronies and young women, probably his valkyries, dressed in their military formals -which left absolutely nothing to the imagination- laughing and joking with some rather uncomfortable looking nobles, the slave girls handing out flutes of champagne and tiny hors d'oeuvres for the knight and his cohort to snack on. Other guests gravitated towards the massive video screens set up about the room, their display split in two, one a tactical map and the other real time footage from Area 2.

"Perhaps we can inform Sir Bradley we're here and make haste?" I heard Kanon suggest, and I honestly seriously considered following through with it.

It was then that a small body made contact with mine, the jostle not enough to unbalance me, but more than enough to startle the perpetrator. She was a porcelain figure, her rich peach hair tied up ornately to fit the occasion, and her pink and maroon dress just as suitably extravagant. While yet still young, only being fifteen, she sported a rather mature figure, which clashed somewhat amusedly with her frustrated pout and dainty little features creased over her huge doe violet eyes which were now glued to me in bemusement.

"Ah, Marrybell, a pleasure to see you again," I greeted, politely smiling to her as she attempted to recover herself from the shock.

"Brother Schneizel! I'm so sorry for bumping into you." She profusely apologised, bowing her head in respect to me, which I dismissed humbly.

"I hadn't realised you were in Pendragon so soon after your campaign against the Chilean Triads in Area 6. I trust you've had a productive first command?"

"Yes, very productive. The Glinda Knights broke up their operation with ease. They're still there, cleaning up the mess," She answered dismissively, obviously something else on her mind; I had a fairly good idea what. "I am curious as to why I wasn't informed that they had found Lelouch until I received an invitation to come to this welcoming party for him,"

With my beliefs confirmed, I gestured for her to join me, which she obeyed without complaint. Replacing my polite smile with a tight frown, "You'll be displeased to hear the true intent of this party; it is actually a celebration to commemorate the start of a brutal game that the nobility fund through gambling. Bradley is hosting the event this season, likely because of the massive investment he has in the sport, and given the unique nature of the contestants this season it's highly likely he'd using this as an attempt to advertise it,"

Marrybell took in the information without any visible reaction, just nodding in understanding. As I concluded, she peered towards me, asking, "And what does this have to do with Lelouch?"

"Lelouch volunteered to enlist in the penal legion to escape any punishment at the hands of the Royal Court," I offered, letting her complete the puzzle in her own mind.

"You don't mean…" she protested in disbelief, turning to me with burning eyes and a sneer to rival Cornelia, "Who thought glorifying the punishment of dangerous criminals into some sort of perverted cock fight was a good idea?!"

"The history is somewhat fascinating, actually," I countered, "When the government was fighting wars, and going bankrupt doing so, they needed another source of revenue. With most of the commoners off fighting war, raising the taxes wasn't a viable course of action. The nobility maintained their wealth despite the war, and so the government tried to have them fund their war. Of course, the nobility protested, threatening civil war if the Emperor took the money by force or through taxes. It was his 'advisor' that actually suggested a solution. With so many people on Deaths Row, and the Penal Legion growing so large it was unable to support itself, the advisor suggested that using them as a form of entertainment for the nobility may open pathways into their bank accounts. So, the Penal Legion was reformatted so that training consisted of pitting them against one another until a sufficient amount were culled off, while the nobility watched"

With her face still contorted in incredulity, she whispered ferociously "That's atrocious! How can someone even suggest to profit from the death of thousands, for fun!" Taking a moment to calm herself, she instead focused on the logistics of such a feat, pointing out, "How is gambling even possible? Unless they set themselves up like a roman gladiatorial arena, I can't see how you could account for every prisoner and their kills."

"Not quite," I explained, directing her towards the massive screens about the common room, "They use small trackers attached to the prisoners to track their movements, and we gamble on who we believe will survive each encounter as they crop up. A considerable margin of the profits goes to the legion. They also make massive amounts of money from the exorbitant sign up fees one must pay to have access to the screening of the games."

"But surely the military equipment spent in these games cuts into their profits quite heavily," She countered, which I dismissed.

"The legion has always used recycled equipment. Even during the Washington Rebellions, the legion was armed with the confederate weapons. Now they've collected weapons and equipment from all over the world, over the past hundred and fifty years. They pay nothing for hardware except for the trackers, which are eventually reused, and next to nothing for food. The legion is the single most profitable branch of the military, even taking into account the royalties a single army can pillage when they conquer another area."

We walked over to one of the less crowded screens, the tactical map a rich black highlighted only by the neon blue lines indicating the topography, and the thousands of tiny, white circles and triangles blotting out the majority of the screen, each contrasted against the next by the thin black lines encompassing them. "This television is showing a real time broadcast from the tracking devices," I enlightened, Marrybell stepping forward, examining the intense amounts of information on-screen.

"This is the same battle map used in the G-1's, isn't it?" I nodded, and she continued to consider the information in front of her, "I take it the shapes are indicative of the status of each contender?"

"Correct. Circles indicate that vitals are within acceptable parameters. Triangles show distress, and crosses are death. You can't see it right now, but colours are used to predict current associations and allegiances amongst individuals, which will affect the predicted odds each contestant is given."

"Like gangs?" She postulated, turning to me again in dubiety, "Why would an official military branch sanction gang warfare?"

"A soldier who is fantastic at killing but can not work as part of a team is useless. By encouraging gangs, they are rooting out not only the weak, but also the uncooperative." I observed.

"And how could they possibly be able to predict these sorts of things? Do they have an army of mathematicians at hand?" She quipped again, trying futilely to prod a hole in the elaborate ploy.

I bit my lip, my psyche in conflict over revealing to her the truth of the matter, seeing as she was only a few questions from figuring it out. Rather than indulging her, like a part of me wanted, the logical side reminded me of the dangers in doing so; ultimately not worth the risk when she was so close to working it out herself. "I'm afraid that's classified," I answered contritely, and she eyed me carefully, watching for deceit.

When she found none, she remained quiet, her stance somewhat slumped and her expression forlorn. "Are you alright?"

She nodded solemnly, "I understand why this all exists, but that doesn't make it sit any better in my stomach."

"Agreed, though one must always keep in mind that every member of the nobility has their dirty little hobby, even you; how would Father's court respond to your fascination with one exiled prince, hm?"

She glowered at me, eyeing me with indignation, keeping her voice hushed as she dictated, "That isn't your business, Schneizel."

"Ah, but it is," I insisted, matching her tone so that eavesdroppers would have a harder time, "much in the same way you find this deathmatch repulsive, they would find your continued affection for a commoner just as disgusting." I pointed out, her glower diminished none.

"I understand your point, Brother. I'll keep my mouth shut and just keep smiling." She mumbled.

"You learn well, Marrybell. And never let it be said that your faith in your lost brother ever wavered. You do Lelouch a great service with your high regard."

She waved me off, ignoring the attempt to further cement our alliance with halfhearted compliments, "You'd best save your flattery for someone else, Schneizel. You should know I'm not so easily manipulated."

The slightest smile tugged at my cheeks as I feigned hurt, "You wound me, Marrybell, to think so lowly of me."

She rolled her eyes, and I withheld a chuckle at the little game, "I respect you brother, but that does not mean I will overlook your nature. Were you not the one that taught me that?"

"I had forgotten how perceptive you were in your travels. I'll be sure not to underestimate you in the future," I remarked, quickly grabbing two flutes of champagne from a passing slave girl, handing one to Marrybell before she could refuse me.

Eyeing the glass dubiously, she cracked a small, weak grin as she jeered, "I'll be sure to mark this day on my calendar, dear brother; the day I managed to surprise even you."

"To surprises then," I raised my glass, offering a toast to the underage girl; apparently not so underage to participate in Bradley's game. Marrybell tapped the rim of her glass against mine, the fine 'tink' of fine crystal singing between us as we took sips of the rich, bubbly alcohol. "And speaking of surprises, look over there; that's General Burrows." I continued, nodding in the direction of the bald, shrewd man gallivanting about the common room with his usual slick, eerie demeanour, flirting with a slave girl a hairs breadth from slapping him. I held down a wave of disgust at the mere sight of his wrinkled, gaunt face.

Marrybell considered the name, her eyes indicating the blanks she was drawing, "Burrows? Never heard of him."

With a half chuckle, I replied, "That's probably for the best. He was the former commander of the OSI."

"Oh?" She answered, taking another sip of champagne, "What do you mean, former?"

"He was more interested in fuelling his vanity than commanding his troops. He displayed the utmost incompetence when a dangerous criminal nearly escaped his custody, so I promoted him to the rank of General," I explained, Marrybell confusedly looking me over, silently asking me what I meant. Stepping over to the man in question, I greeted him diplomatically, "General Burrows, a pleasure to see you again, though I am curious as to why you aren't in Area 2, supervising your first command of the Judicial Rehabilitation Legion."

The intent of my greeting was not lost on him, as his already pale pallor grew a shade whiter, fear briefly caught in his vulture-esque eyes as he realised who it was talking to him, if only for a split second. With his attention drawn elsewhere, the girl fled to some other corner of the room, keeping away from the slimy nobleman.

"Oh, Prince Schneizel! I hadn't realised you were," Invited? "present. I had assumed you would be busy with your duties as Prime Minister; your astounding work ethic is somewhat legendary, after all." He finished, his own diplomatic masque falling neatly into place as he excused his presence, "The Rehabilitation Legion has been undergoing the same preparations and procedures for the past four decades. At this point in time, the soldiers enlisted are more than capable of carrying out the necessary tasks autonomously. I am of far more use here, rallying sponsors."

"As you say, General Burrows," I answered noncommittally, letting him know I didn't believe a word that came from his mouth.

"As pleasant as this conversation has been, I'm afraid that I am needed elsewhere. Perhaps another time, your highness," He concluded the conversation, stalking off after the girl, and I laughed lowly at the man.

"Charming man," Marrybell muttered darkly, revulsion carefully concealed by a tight smile as she went back to sipping her champagne.

When the violent tinking of crystal drew silence from the crowd, I turned to face what had bought our undivided attention. Stepping forward, the host of the night was now standing at his full demeanour, a violent, wicked grin across his face as he made to play the crowd to his whims

"Greetings to you all! Welcome to my castle, I'm glad you are all here to witness this historic occasion; the first time a member of royal blood has been enlisted in the ranks of traitors, murderers, thieves and cutthroats! Let us see if the strength so prevalent in the Emperor's children prevails, or if his commoners heritage has truly dirtied the rich blood in his veins!"

The crowd cheered as he finished his spiel, their bloodlust almost palpable. I kept quiet, observing as the knight continued to spur the crowd, spewing such cliches as 'the strong thrive, the weak die', and the 'need for the strong to prove themselves in the heat of battle', until the entire crowd was feeding from the palm of his hand, enamoured by the self-promoting ego-feeding utter bullshit that the need was selling. Marrybell quietly seethed beside me, her temper growing closer to the boiling point with every word the man said.

"Now, if you'll all pull out your tablets or phones, we can truly get started!" He called out, finally coming to the end of his promotion. Following the command, I relinquished the phone from my pocket, opening it to find an invitation to a gambling application now flashing on the screen. Opening it, I found a list of names, their odds of survival -posted next to their display picture- updated in real time, as well as the minimum bet one can make, all of which were ghastly sums of money. Selecting one, the tactical map suddenly took up my screen, the individual's status icon highlighted with a brilliant red border.

Backtracking slightly, I went through the built-in search engine to find Lelouch, his odds looking absolutely abysmal compared to other. Only a few individuals had worse odds against them. Shrugging, I placed a minimum bet in favour of Lelouch surviving the opening ceremony; he mightn't have the physical strength, but underestimating the boy's intelligence was a grave mistake to make. The three bare ties we had in chess just before his incarceration were a testament to that.

I also quickly made a bet on Mister Shen, the young prisoner I'd condemned to serve in the Legion. Marrybell refused to make any bets, she only watched the tactical map, Lelouch highlighted for her to see.

Bradley then directed us to the screens about the room, where images of an officer giving a speech was now playing. He was a bored, tired man, and his delivery certainly didn't inspire much hope, or much of anything but despair. It was as Shen's picture filled the screen, and the officer announced the pseudo-bounty that I locked eyes with Burrows, who'd taken a place near the opposite end of the crowd. His squinted brown eyes watched my reaction carefully, his face passive but his hands quivering in anxiety; a dangerous game, to play with an opponent you can't predict the reaction of, Burrows. He probably hadn't expected the officer to spill the beans on who the order came from. Deciding rather than confront him over his attempt to execute the soldier I enlisted, I looked back to my wager on Mister Shen, upping it considerably despite the fact his odds of survival had dwindled to the lowest of any given prisoner. I honestly had to thank Burrows; he'd just helped my plan come closer to fruition, and I'd be raking in huge profits without even needing to take the risk I'd intended.

Marrybell quivered in anger, her face scrunched in a frustrated nausea as the guards opened fire into the crowd, Lelouch's status instantly going from 'healthy' to 'distressed'. She shoved her phone into the small pocket in her ball gown, stomping off as she muttered, "I'm leaving."

Gripping her wrist, halting her briefly, I whispered, "I should warn you in advance; being caught interfering with the deathmatch is an offence punishable by death. Nobility don't take well to messing with their gambling,"

"I understand, Brother," She answered, catching my meaning clearly as she left the dingy castle.

That didn't sound too bad of an idea now, actually. Just have to greet Bradley, then leave; too bad things never really were that simple.

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Naoto Kozuki

October 3th, 2015 A.T.B.

Mount Fuji Sakuradite Mining Complex, Area 11

In only a week, everything that I'd thought to be true of our plight against Britannia seemed to turn itself on its head. The 'Most Peaceful Area in Britannia', the 'Economic Powerhouse of Area 11', 'The Most Cooperative Area in History', was actually home to the most organised anti-Britannian movement ever, the sheer scale of the operation surpassing even the Washington Rebellion. All this time, I'd thought the Japanese to be accepting their slavery. There were very few stories of proper resistance movements that weren't just pirates waving a flag, my own only a small group, with the JLF acting as unofficial peace keepers for the Britannians and only sometimes engaging in skirmishes. I'd always assumed that it was a cowardly move designed to help the Japanese prosper, even at the cost of their own pride, but now that I sat here, reading through all these files one after another, I began to realise something. There was no peace, only a pot boiling so slowly that no one was even realising it, and the Britannians were the ones helping stoke the fire.

I'd read through treatises, promises of resources, men, firepower, and money from within and out of Japan, alliances with massive Britannian conglomerates, bypasses through the government and Clovis' court. Reports of mass armaments in the Ghettoes, organised humanitarian aid in the underprivileged areas, incoming and outgoing research and development reports, movements to secure more rights for the 'Honorary Britannians' and Elevens, even battle reports of large scale skirmishes against Britannian forces. The sheer number of raw material, weapons, ammunition, technology and money going through this headquarters was staggering. Full scale expulsion of the Britannian presence was only a few years away, not the decades like I'd thought.

Throughout all of this, Miss Shinozaki made a steadfast effort to assist me whenever necessary in understanding something, even if she herself did not. Even now, she sat at the desk behind me, steadfast and vigilant as she sorted her own documents, waiting to be beckoned by me. She would leave every now and then, only to return with more files for me to sift through. I've no doubt that I would have grown tired of it all had I not been so enthralled in what was going on.

"Pardon me, My Lord, I have business elsewhere. I'll be returning soon," She informed as she slipped out of the room; when did she move from her desk?

Regardless, I kept my attention focused on the mission briefing in front of me, carefully analysing the task chosen to be my first appearance as Zero. It was a fairly simple task, though that did nothing to quell the rising anxiety within me. I was to take on the role of perhaps the single most idyllic individual in Area Eleven, quite literally a living legend. But now my mind is wandering, and the information I so desperately need to pull this off is simply flying over my head.

A small contingent of Japanese soldiers was waiting for me in the port of Sapporo, Hokkaido. The city had become infamous during the war for some of the hardest resistance to the initial invasion. When the Britannian fleets had attempted to manoeuvre around the island of Hokkaido through European water to launch an offensive from the west at the beginning of the war, they encountered a large Japanese Naval presence in the Sea of Japan which started a war of attrition. While the Japanese Fleet was outnumbered, they used the nearby port of Sapporo to supply, restock, and repair the vessels damaged in the fighting. With their fleet suffering constant losses, the Britannian fleet launched their land forces in the town of Wakkanai. After levelling the town, the Britannians had used the Wakkanai National Highway as an artery through Hokkaido, where they then attempted to raze the city of Sapporo. However, the Japanese Military had already moved most of its armaments in Hokkaido to Sapporo to be shipped to Niigata where they were needed most, after the eastern coast had been heavily blockaded. With the Britannian military moving into Sapporo, the decision for do or die resistance was made, and the equipment was distributed to every able individual. Children above the age of ten were given control of the weapons on mobile weapon emplacements, while the elderly acted as logistical support. Any who couldn't fight were immediately evacuated to Eniwa. The battle lasted for several weeks, and though the Britannian's won, it was a pyrrhic victory at best. The Britannian army and navy suffered extreme casualties, and the city of Sapporo was effectively levelled. Down to ten percent of their original numbers, the remaining enemy forces established a military Command and Control centre in the remains of Sapporo, becoming the primary centre of operations for the Britannians in the war. After the war came to a close, Japanese people returned to Sapporo to reclaim their lives, and the base remained established. Even now, urban utilities were only just being restored to the people living in the city.

Which brings me to my objective now: a small guerrilla humanitarian group was re-establishing living conditions within the ghetto. The group has, as of yet, only engaged in peaceful action, to the point where they refuse to even have armed guards accompany their workers. Their work was admittedly exceptional, as they managed to reactivate many of the defunct water treatment plants, and secure a food source for the inhabitants which had been scrounging in the rubble for a long time, and power was now being generated within the remains. In short, the JLF wanted these individuals working for them, considering their exceptional skills as field medics and engineers. Previous attempts had been made, but the leader of the group, a woman by the name of Okazaki, had adamantly refused to cooperate with a military group, even if it meant they received much needed resources. They were content to siphon any excess power from the Military base, or redirect water through them; apparently the Britannians hadn't figured out who was causing these phenomena yet.

In any case, Zero had left me with the task of figuring out a way to convince Okazaki to join the JLF, a task easier said than done; we had nothing they wanted.

"Oh! So you're the one that he picked to stand-in for him!" The bubbly voice snapped me from my contemplation, my attention drawn to a rather small, prepubescent girl with huge green eyes and silken black hair that reached to her waist. She grinned impishly as she said, "I've never seen a shade of red like yours. Do you dye it?"

Flabbergasted at her sudden appearance in Zero's private quarters, I looked about to see if this little girl had any handler nearby. When I found no adult nearby to take the little girl home, I asked, "What are you doing here?"

Her small faced scrunched in displeasure, her arms crossed now. "It's rude to ignore someone's question, you know!" She reprimanded, startling me with her authoritative tone, something unbefitting of someone of such a small stature.

Blinking at her a few times, I finally responded unsurely, "No, I don't dye my hair; it's my father's natural colour."

She beamed at the revelation, shuffling over to Sayako's chair in her heavy, ornate, traditional Japanese clothing made of whites, pinks and gold. Taking the seat, she sat with poised grace, attentive to me with curious eyes.

"And to answer your question, I'm here to see you! I heard we had a new guest, and I couldn't help but come meet you in person," She exclaimed happily.

I watched her somewhat suspiciously. It was obvious that she was a member of one the families of Kyoto, though beyond that I had no idea who she was, something that didn't make me feel comfortable. She might be a valuable well of information regarding the representative members of Kyoto, though I wouldn't put much stock in that possibility. She could also be a spy from the other houses, given their untrusting nature towards Zero. I ultimately couldn't do anything against her, as the last thing Zero needed was more suspicion cast against him.

Turning back to my papers, I dismissed the girl. "I'm afraid I have a lot of work to catch up on. Perhaps we could have this conversation later?" I excused politely.

I tried desperately to focus on the briefing and coming up with a plan, but knowing the little girl was now hovering over my shoulder as I worked didn't exactly help my exhausted mind. "Oh, so he gave you the Sapporo mission!" She exclaimed as she read the briefing, "That's a tough one. He must have a lot of faith in you if he thinks you can solve that problem."

Surprised at her knowledge of the mission, I slowly turned to her in disbelief. "You know about this?"

She nodded enthusiastically, a bright smile on her face, "Yep! Mister Kirihara took me with him when he tried to recruit them himself after they turned away his messengers."

My interest piqued at the revelation of this information. I couldn't believe it, someone with firsthand knowledge and observations of the target would be invaluable.

"What can you tell me of her?" I asked, and the little girl brightly smiled, a smile that sent a shiver down my back and I now knew I'd fallen into her trap; little brat was far more cunning the she let on.

"I'll tell you, but you have to promise to come join me for tea," A tea party? That's what she wanted? Perhaps I'd given her too much credit. But one look at the devious grin she wore told me different.

Sighing, I cast my head down in defeat. "Very well, I'll join you for tea. But first, I need to complete a plan for the mission in Sapporo," I reminded her, and she nodded in agreement to the terms.

"Okazaki likes to believe in the good in people. It makes her trusting and naïve." She stared me straight in the eye as she delivered the only information she thought necessary, her jovial attitude discarded briefly. The analysis was cold, and I couldn't believe what it was this little girl was suggesting; who taught her to think like that? The answer itself was obvious, given the chess match I had a week ago.

The door suddenly opened again, and I looked up to see Miss Shinozaki now entering the room. She seemed surprised at the little girls presence, hastily bowing to her in respect. "Lady Sumeragi! I hadn't realised you were in here. Lord Kirihara was looking for you," She informed us.

I looked over to the girl, the Lady Kaguya Sumeragi, in epiphany. This was the effective leader of the six houses. She only pouted at the news, removing herself from the maid's chair and dusting off her clothes. "Very well, can you take me back to him?" She asked, and Miss Shinozaki graciously accepted the command.

As she was leaving the room, she turned back to me, smiling widely again, "I'll send someone for you when it's time for tea,"

I could only nod in response, hiding the embarrassment I felt at treating someone of her standing with such disrespect.

On the positive though, I now at least had a plan of action for Sapporo.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Prisoner Lelouch Lamperouge

September 29th, 2015 A.T.B.

Saskatchewan, Area 2

I was starting to notice a very distinct pattern with waking up recently; it fucking hurt. A massive weight sat atop me, crushing me. My breathing was laboured as my chest struggled to heft the lug. I could hardly see anything under it, and my body struggled to even wriggle with it pressing against me. I fought the urge to panic in the claustrophobia. Each breath I drew was somewhat stale, the twang of metal and reek of shit filtering through my nose. With strained arms, I tried to push the soft, flaccid weight from me. Drops of warm, viscous fluid dribbled onto my face, trickling into my eyes and mouth, and spilled along my arms. I continued to struggle against it, trying desperately to shift it, fire coursing through the already strained muscle. It was as I only just managed to lift the weight from my body that my arms failed, the mass slumped into me again, knocking the breath from my body.

Changing my approach, I pushed against the earth with my feet, sliding myself along the grass. My head peaked out of from under the body, the blinding light of morning burning my retina. Another push brought my chest from under him, and I sighed in relief at the sudden gush of cold morning air rushing into my lungs, the metallic taste still there, but diluted somewhat. With a final push, I relieved my legs. I tried to stand, but collapsed instantly as my legs protested. On all fours, I recollected my breath. I braced my body for another attempt, and I pushed myself up. With wobbly feet, I now stood and took a look about me.

It was a scene I'd witnessed before, my body recognizing instantly the smell of burnt flesh, the reek of metal, smoke and shit, and the repulsive stench of decay. A spasm wracked my body, and I vomited on the floor, onto the body that had been resting on me. I stood in a field of corpses, the bodies of hundreds painting the shore of the lake a putrid red. Even now, the water was stained as the blood drained into its still pools. People lay in puddles of their entrails and viscera, body parts strewn about by explosives. Some had gaping holes riddling their bodies, their innards slipping from the wounds. Other bodies were entirely deformed, the feet of hundreds snapping and crunching bones until all that remained was a mangled mess of flesh and bone. And I was all alone amongst the death.

Looking down to the body that had fallen atop me, I realized the only reason I now lived was because he had inadvertently shielded me from shrapnel, bullets, and feet all too carelessly placed in the mad scramble for safety. Were it not for him, and the small carpet of bodies that had covered me, I would surely have been crushed.

A heavy groan not too far away drew my attention back to the here and now, my body flushing with relief that I didn't have to walk through hell by myself. Rushing over to where I heard the noise, I scrambled for a handhold of another dead body, putting all my strength into shifting the dead weight. When I finally removed it, I was admittedly a little surprised to find Naishe hiding beneath the dead. She looked to be fine, some split skin, a few bruises, but not likely to die anytime soon. Sighing in relief, I sunk to the ground, sitting alongside the deceased, coming up with a plan of action. Naishe groaned again, rolling onto her side until she could lift herself up, her consciousness slowing catching up to her.

"I haven't been this hungover for a long time," She finally said, rubbing her eyes as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. She flinched as she rested her weight on her hip, and her lithe hands lazily prodded several points on her body, from her chest to her hip, and finally her head, each jab eliciting a grimace. "Ah, not hungover. Knocked out," She gathered languidly, prodding her ribs again, "and possibly a fractured rib."

She took in a shaky breath, savouring the fresh, revolting air with painfully contained gusto. Her golden eyes were drowsy, their intense brightness slowly trickling back into them as she sobered from the concussion, flicking to me as she cracked a wry grin. "Well, that turned out better than expected, no? Can't believe we're still alive," She looked about, taking in the piles of bodies and parts she'd slept in, snickering at the horrors before her, "Can't say I've had a wake up like this in a long time."

"You've woken up underneath a guy in a pile of bodies before?"

"Well yeah!" She laughed lowly, tears pricking at her eyes in what I realised was relief, "It's called university over in Europe."

A dry chuckle bubbled from my throat, the tension and dismay slowly releasing itself from me. The two of us just sat amidst the dead, giggling over some stupid sex joke, because honestly, what else were we supposed to do?

It was the shrieking whistles of gunfire, ricocheting stones and dirt, and muffled, hollow thumps of bodies caught in the crossfire that brought reality crashing down. Naishe dragged me down prone, the dead acting as our shield. A few more shots pinged about us, my heart hammering in my ears. My eyes flitted about, considering the bodies about us, mapping a path through the valleys of dead and dying. Naishe clung to the ridge of bodies, peaking over and watching the shooter. I tugged on Naishe's sleeve, quietly directing her to the pathway I'd discerned, but she brushed my hand away, insisting that we wait with a placating hand gesture. I persisted in my attempts to persuade her to flee with me. I knew exactly what she was doing, and I refused to abide by it. It wasn't a fight worth having. But Naishe remained rooted in place, playing dead. I yanked on her arm again, but she only gave an irritated growl. The squelch of feet sinking into flesh, the snapping of bones, and the gentle splash of mud and blood drew closer with every passing moment. Frantically, I shifted my weight, crawling along the floor along the path I'd chosen. I only made it about a metre or two before I looked back to Naishe, probably one of my best chances of getting out of here alive. I needed her help. But she wasn't going to come, no matter how much I prodded her. I had to get out of here.

My course of action was decided when the heavy, armoured boot crunched on the leg of the corpse in front of me. My heart stopped as I lay there unmoving, watching as the figure considered the pile of corpse about him, the barrel tip of an assault rifle dancing in my peripheral. Fire burned in my lungs as I fought to hold my breath. I fought the tremble threatening to spread throughout my body. My chest ached under the strain. And it was all for nought, as the barrel of the weapon found itself hovering above my head. He was clearly one of the penal legion soldiers, his mismatched and makeshift armour a clear indicator. He was rather short, but bulky, the armour only extending his width.

"Oh? A survivor?" The masculine voice was muffled and distorted under the mask he wore. My mouth dried, and my lips quivered; so this was how I met my end.

It was silent, the way she pounced, giving no warning to the shooter as she tackled him about his waist, dragging him to the ground. It was only his bloody roar that filled the air as he toppled to the ground, crushing the bodies strewn about under his metal armour, the weapon he'd held flung away, now nestling itself in a nook between two bodies. Naishe straddled him by his waist, throwing a punch straight to his head. The shooter caught the fist with a gauntleted arm, Naishe drawing her fist back, flicking her hand to dispel the pain as she screamed, 'Fuck!'. He retaliated with a fist to her gut, knocking her from her place on him with an 'oomph'. She rolled onto her back, his knee catching her in the pelvis, Naishe barking in pain as she stumbled back. He pushed from the ground, catching Naishe in the face with the back of his hand, her body spinning to the ground. I crawled between the bodies, aiming for the weapon, but a heavy foot slammed into my side, knocking me onto my back, breathless and wheezing, doubled over.

I watched as the legionnaire stomped by me, moving to collect his weapon, when Naishe leapt onto his back, right arm wrapped around his neck, left hand prying at the helmet. He flailed about, trying desperately to remove the woman who caught him in a strangle hold. He flung his head back, catching her in the face with his helmet. She fell from her perch on his back, taking the helmet with her, landing in the foetal position. He looked like an average man, nothing extraordinary about him. The only thing that could even be considered ugly was the sneer he wore as he kicked Naishe, who protected her ribs with her arms. Incensed by her attack, he doubled back to the rifle, retrieving it and cocking the weapon, making sure the safety was off.

He was promptly cut off from performing the execution when an unknown object slammed into his head with a sharp 'snap', knocking him aside and onto the floor with a bloody spurt. Naishe scrambled for the weapon he'd dropped again, taking it in hand and levelling the barrel against the soldier's temple, a splash of blood catching her on the face as she pulled the trigger. I lay on the floor, fighting the urge to vomit, giddy at my own heartbeat pounding in my head. Naishe wasn't so lucky, as she collapsed to her knees, hurling her guts up. As the wave of nausea passed, I slowly rolled onto my hands and knees, taking a moment to gather my breath.

"I knew you were greedy, Naishe, but this is just ridiculous." Whoever spoke had a rich, cheery voice, a man unfazed by the horror he stood in, "If I hadn't doubled back to look for your sorry arse, you'd be dead by now."

"Oh, you know me Gareth," She wheezed slightly, her breath still not caught up, and I could hear the shit-eating grin from here, "can't help a little adventure. And the promise of all that loot was just too much for me,"

The man –Gareth? - snickered a little, and the hearty 'oomph' I heard was no doubt him helping Naishe to her feet. "I'm sure there's a joke in there about the pirate and her fantastic booty." He quipped back.

A soft pat told me that Naishe slapped this Gareth's arm playfully, chiding him, "Oh shush you."

"What could you joke about? Aren't they synonymous?" This voice was tiny and feminine, laden with a rich accent I couldn't quite place. She was genuinely confused, I could tell that much, "I've missed something, haven't I?"

"It's a pun, kitten," Naishe explained, giggling slightly as she did, "Booty is also a term for a lady's arse."

"Not always a lady," Gareth mumbled under his breath with a shallow chuckle.

The girl Naishe referred to as Kitten openly exclaimed, "Oh!" in embarrassment. "Why do you have to make such crude jokes, Gareth?" She chastised lightly, not exactly telling him off, more like venting her embarrassment.

"I bet you wouldn't be upset if I made it about your gorgeous arse," He rebutted, a cheeky tone sneaking into his voice. She was flustered, her feet shuffling and hands fidgeting, not knowing how to respond. Naishe's giggles turned to full blown laughter, and Gareth joined in. She took a deep breath, preparing herself to tell the two off properly, but just gave in with a weighty slump. She must've finally noticed me, because

A pair of worn black boots stepped up to me, the soles nearly completely fallen off. As I lifted my head, I found myself looking into a pair of warm, forest green eyes. It was a rather dainty girl, slim by any measurement. Her pale skin and small stature lent to the image of her being incredibly young, but her eyes spoke volumes of her age. She held a small hand out to me, which I took gratefully as she lent me the strength to stand up. I wobbled slightly on my feet, my stomach still aching from the blow it took.

Naishe stood in place, blood freely flowing from her nose and lips, and dripping from the split knuckle on her hand from where she'd punched the helmet. Her other arm clutched her stomach. Beside her was the man she identified as Gareth. He was a tall man, well-built and rugged. His well-defined face already sported a shadow of stubble. He wasn't old, possibly a bit younger than even Naishe, but the tight coils of muscles barely hid beneath his clothes, the long, jagged scar reaching across his nose, and the dark, bronze eyes that watched everything I did like a hawk told of a much darker past than his cocky grin would hint to. He grasped a long leather band in his right hand, a pouch at the end; so that's the weapon he'd used to help us.

He turned to me, grin fading none as he looked me over keenly. "So you're the one Naishe conned into helping her?" He asked, though it was more of a statement than anything else.

"I'm Lelouch. Pleasure to meet you," I greeted politely, keeping a stony façade in place; I resigned myself to a mostly observational role, considering I knew nothing of these people. He grinned a little at me, as if he found my manners amusing, before extending his hand in greeting.

"My name's Gareth," He introduced, before indicating back towards our common acquaintance, "I've had the misfortune of travelling with this god-forsaken smuggler for a couple of years now. She calls me crew, I call her slave master," He finished with a good-natured chuckle.

Naishe perked up at the accusation, refuting it with a pout, "Hey, I resent that! You got fair wages."

"For a regular worker, perhaps, but when do I get compensated for the regular occupational hazard? Getting shot at by a Britannian warship isn't exactly my idea of a safe working environment!" He exclaimed.

"Oh, you're still going on about that?" She argued with crossed arms, before pointing to him with an accusatory glance, "You're the one who wanted to run the Cape Town Blockade!"

The two continued to banter, and I felt my exasperation rise. I'd obviously reached a new depth of hell; what in the world did I do in a past life to be stuck with two Milly's?

"Don't mind them," The voice was soft, but it drew my attention from the argument nonetheless. My eyes locked on the small girl, her head bowed shyly and her stance slack, twiddling her fingers, "They do this sometimes."

I sighed, shrugging off my vexation. "They bicker like an old married couple," I replied noncommittally.

"You know, a lot of people say that. They told me that one time they snuck into Russia pretending to be husband and wife. Apparently the guards didn't believe it, and they started to argue over their 'wedding', and the guards just let them through! Of course, Naishe tells it a lot better than I can," I was somewhat stunned at the seemingly endless anxious jumble of words that came out of her mouth. She kept going on and on without any indication of stopping, "I'm a little jealous honestly; I think I'm doing something wrong. Gareth and I never bicker at all."

"You're rambling again Kitten," Naishe finally jutted in, her argument with Gareth finished enough for her to spare me from the nervous ramblings of this girl.

She flushed in embarrassment, shutting up instantly, but her wide green eyes grateful for the interruption. "Oh, I'm sorry," she mumbled apologetically

"My name is Mariel, Mariel Sabrae, but you can call me Marie" She finally introduced, curtseying, leaving me a little surprised. It was a perfect, formal curtsey; the only thing missing was the elaborate ball-gown. Gareth had a keen eye, for he noticed the brief flash of surprise I'd let slip.

"Eh, don't mind her." He quickly explained, "She spent most of her time as a kid cooped up in a mansion, learning science, silly customs and how to avoid human contact for months on end."

"That was one time," she sported a juvenile pout as she jumped in, futilely defending herself against the accusation.

Gareth simply grinned. "She still hasn't quite learnt social graces," he finished, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, which she gently stroked with her thumb, her pout diminished none.

"It isn't a problem," I quickly dismissed, hoping to draw everyone's attention back to the task at hand, "Perhaps we should investigate the tower soon? We don't know when other soldiers will be returning here; they still haven't gone through searching for other survivors yet, so they're bound to come back eventually,"

"Huh, so you didn't pick him for just his pretty face," He remarked to me, pleasantly surprised, before turning to Naishe with a grin, "and here I thought you were just hunting for a new boy toy."

"Oh ye of little faith; who says that because he's smart he can't be a boy toy." She remarked, malicious smirk on her face.

Sighing, I hobbled over to the dead soldier, climbing through the tangle of bodies without much care. Naishe and the others continued to banter as I rifled through our attackers equipment, pocketing anything that might come in handy. A cigarette lighter and a few other knickknacks found themselves planted in the deep pockets of my leather coat. I found a few magazines for his weapon on his person, as well as a few knives, and some other objects sharpened similar to knives. I grabbed underneath him, trying to flip him over, but my chest was sore and my arms weak.

"Can I get some help here?" I called out, and the rustle of clothes and slips of wet boots grew closer, until I felt a shift in the dead guards body, another set of hands ready to help.

"Yes, your most magnificent leader, anything for you," Gareth quipped with a satirical grin, and I rolled my eyes in turn. With his strength, we were now able to roll the body onto its back, his rucksack now poking to the sky. Stripping him of it, and anything else of any value, I slipped the bag over my shoulders, the heavy weight inside weighing down on my chest, the pain in my stomach amplified tenfold. I groaned under the strain, but kept myself steady; it was best for me to carry it for now.

"Doesn't anyone want that guy's armour?" Mariel finally perked up, drawing our attention back to the corpse of our attacker when no one made a move to remove his armour.

"Nah, kitten; it'll just slow us down." Naishe explained with a shrug, paying no more heed to the dead soldier as she slowly hobbled to our position.

When Mariel just looked on with confusion, Gareth elaborated, "You and Most Excellent Leader there probably couldn't even wear it without becoming exhausted, and neither Naishe nor I care much for armour like that. Best to just take the equipment and leave."

With the questions answered and the equipment looted, I nodded towards the tower, commanding, "Ok, let's head off." The others fell in behind me as we made our way to the tower. Gareth occasionally knelt down and gathered stones, probably ammunition for his sling. Naishe limped on, having stubbornly refused help from both Mariel and Gareth, her bloody hand tightly gripping the assault rifle she'd apprehended. Mariel hung about the middle of our group, humming a jaunty tune to herself as she deftly evaded the corpses strewn about the floor. We all walked in relative silence for only the briefest moment, before Naishe spoke up again, trying to spur more conversation, though her voice was a little more raw, the adrenaline fading from her system.

"So I get how you found me and pretty boy, but how did you guys find each other? Our truck stopped in the middle of nowhere."

"Our trucks stopped together; I think there was a shortage of guards," Gareth remarked with casual observation, retrieving a metal container from his coat with a grin, "I caught this sneaky little minx siphoning fuel while the guards turned their backs."

"It isn't often you see petroleum fuelled cars nowadays. I just wanted to gather a sample of it." She tried to justify herself, though the excuse fell short, her voice timid and demure.

I heard the twisting of a metal lid as he opened the cask, and the wind blew a faint whiff of the putrid fuel, something unlike any other fuel I'd ever smelt. I scrunched my face at the smell, and judging by the gagging sounds behind me, the others didn't find it much more pleasant."How'd you get that? I thought I'd hidden it in my-" Mariel exclaimed in surprise, suddenly pausing to flush in embarrassment.

"You should know by now, darling; there is nowhere you can hide something that I want to steal, least of all on your body," Gareth quipped back, Mariel flushing something brilliant as he winked to her. Taking a whiff, he gagged again, this time asking, "what were you even doing with it when I found you?"

"I was doing some tests on it," She explained.

"Prison isn't exactly the time to be playing with your chemistry set," Gareth remarked, sloshing the liquid about in the container, watching it with mild interest. "I don't even know where you get the materials to perform your tests. It certainly didn't come in the crates the soldiers opened," Gareth explained, his voice strained as he held his breath. He spun the cap back on, and the stench dispersed, the tink of metal and slosh of liquid telling me of his transfer to its owner.

"They were in the cabin of the truck."

Naishe laughed lowly, restrained by the pain in her chest. "Atta girl; You'll be a Grade A thief in no time," she encouraged.

"You're a terrible influence on her, Naishe," Gareth admonished.

"Oh, and you're not?"

"Of course not; you're the one who taught her stealing is good," He explained, his haughty grin clear in his voice, "I'm the one who taught her how to steal good."

Mariel decided now was as good a time as any to step in, recounting her own experience during the ordeal, probably trying to stop another argument before it happened, "When Gareth just popped up from nowhere, I almost wet my pants."

"Pretty sure you do that when you see him anyway, Kitten," Naishe muttered lowly. I pressed my lips tight together, intent not to let a single chuckle out.

Gareth seemed to be struggling as much as I, as his words came out as gasps as he clamped down his laughter. "Naishe! I hardly think that's appropriate." Taking a slight breath to regain his composure he continued with a smug grin, "Besides, isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Your sex appeal is a lot like your impeccable sense of humour, Gareth; dry as a bone." Naishe remarked, and this time I couldn't help the snicker that escaped my lips.

"Ouch, the burn," Gareth remarked, gasping in mock pain as he melodramatically feigned faintness. "Perhaps a lovely little chemist can kiss the wound better?" He finished with a grin, winking to Mariel, who giggled with a blush. The chatter subsided for a brief second, before the younger girl spoke up again.

"But pots and kettles aren't black? I don't understand what that means," Mariel asked, confused at the colloquialism. Gareth face palmed, and Naishe looked to her with disbelief. With a downcast voice, the confused girl asked carefully, "I've missed something, haven't I?"

"We should be quiet; no knowing who's in the tower," I intervened, hoping to shut them up for just a little bit, and thankfully the others nodded in understanding. The rest of the walk was in quiet, though Mariel insisted on humming her tune, albeit a little quieter.

The tower was somewhat eerie, it's cobbled stone and cracked wood laden with dust and sand gathered over time, moss and vines nestled into the cracks and crevices. It was terribly old, the faded outcrops of gargoyles hung precariously from the stone buttresses. The door was rotted, it's hinges rusted. It's windows were naught but slits in the stone, large enough to stick an arm through but not much else. Alongside the water's edge, it was a lonely infringement against the pristine nature about us, looking jarringly out of place amongst everything else. I couldn't imagine many place it would actually blend in; perhaps a fairy-tale? The others all prepared their weapons as I tried the door, but it's old lock held fast against my attempts.

"Here, let me try," Naishe said, and I considered it for a moment; she would certainly have the know-how to pick the lock, surely? Nodding in consent, I stepped away from the door. Going up to the door, she gave a dainty tug of the handle before giving up with a shrug. I was about to object, to tell her she'd need to try harder to open it when she sent a swift foot into the lock, the entire rotted wood coming clean off its hinges with a thunderous bang, and the bronze woman charged in, weapon raised. I was left somewhat stupefied, and Gareth could only chuckle.

"And there she goes again; she always did love to do it rough," I nearly groaned as he finished the joke with a wink; what did I do to anger the gods to deserve this fate.

The three of us followed in after her, Gareth wielding his sling. Naishe stood at the centre of a cobblestone room, desks and computers scattered about the room, the former old and ruined, the latter broken and gathering dust, their components strewn about. It was a musty old room, the decaying wood and overgrown fauna marking this place as a ruin. Oddly enough, though, were the heavy steel girders running the length of the walls, no doubt keeping this structure intact despite its derelict state. A pathway of cobblestone steps led to the next level.

"Let's go," I ordered as I made my way over to the stairwell. It was narrow enough that Naishe and I could barely fit on the same step. She led the way again, rifle at the ready for even the slightest hint of hostilities. Gareth took up the rear, sling spinning at a dizzying rate, ready to hurl its package at any who might try to sneak up behind us. The steps themselves were slippery, the moss and dew helping none. The wooden handrail was in shambles, the shards of rotted wood littering the stairwell. I felt only slight reprieve from my shame by the fact that Mariel at least struggled as much as I did on the stairwell; Naishe and Gareth showed no such difficulty.

As we finally traipsed our way into the second floor, this looked to be in far more reasonable state. All of the technology had been stripped clean, but at least the desks looked to be in usable condition.

"Fan out! Search for anything useful, and be mindful. Naishe, you travel to the next level and make sure there are no nasties waiting for us," I ordered, and the woman in question crossed her arms in disapproval.

"Why can't Gareth do it?"

"Gareth doesn't have a gun," I pointed out.

Gareth laughed a little, grinning as he agreed, "He's got you beat there."

"Fine; I get to keep the loot up there though," She admitted

"And how do you propose you'll carry it all?" I asked, pointing out the logistical error of her bargain. "You don't exactly have many pockets, and you don't have a bag," I continued, gesturing to her outfit, not a single pocket at all visible on her.

"You underestimate a ladies power," She answered with a grin, shouldering the weapon and making her way up to the next level. I was left there, watching her back as I considered what she'd just said, trying to make sense of the statement.

Gareth must've noticed my confusion, as he quickly stepped in with a smug grin, "Don't think too hard on it; you really don't want to know."

Sighing, I made my way back downstairs. I trusted the fact the others seemed more than capable of looting the place of any value, but I had already thought of something far more valuable than any weapon of knick-knack they might find. Taking a final step onto the hard, stable ground beyond the stairs, I started to scan through the wreckage of old computers, taking up any of the electronics I could find and stuffing them into my rucksack. The salvage would be completely useless to most, something I was at least thankful for; nobody had tried to steal it, after all. It took me forever to gather all the pieces I needed. I had to carefully sift through the rotted drawers in the desks, checking in every nook and cranny. I found a few other bits and pieces lying about, some old ammunition for a pistol hastily discarded, a small set of needles alongside some damp, mouldy thread, a few batteries and a lightbulb. Shrugging, I pocketed it all.

Satisfied at the loot I'd picked up, I carefully made my way back upstairs, my heart dropping with every slip my feet made. As I finally made it back to the top of the stairs, I found Mariel and Gareth sitting on one of the table, Mariel resting her head on the man's shoulder.

"We don't have the luxury of wasting time," I called to them as I started to rifle through the drawers on the other desks.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, most gracious leader. While you were down there picking through trash, we searched the place top to bottom," Gareth answered, his blasé attitude grating my nerves slightly; did he not realise the danger to staying here? "I found some cleaning supplies back there" He called to me as I made my way over to supply closet by the stairwell up, "Don't know what use they'd be though; they look years old."

"I only found a few empty tins," Mariel admitted dejectedly, holding up the rusted cans for me to see.

Naishe chose that moment to come down, rifle slung over her shoulder, arms crossed and frown on her face. "This place has been picked clean! Not a single thing worth a buck in here," She complained, "I couldn't even get the door to the roof open; some sort of electric locking system, by the looks of it," She finished, slumping down next to the others, sighing in disappointment.

Taking inventory in my head, our chances hadn't exactly gone up; a few bits of junk, an assault rifle with only three magazines, a backpack filled with a few days food, and some cleaning products didn't exactly inspire hope. Resting on the wall, I mentally conceded the poor situation we were in.

Our reverie was interrupted by an unearthly roar, the crashing of trees and shriek of rubber skidding on the earth both heralding the coming beast. I scrambled over to the tiny window of the building, looking out onto the blanket of bodies covering the shoreline of the lake, watching for any sign of the source. It was with a crash that one of the old trucks soldiers used came barrelling through the thicket, its old body battered and dented from time and abuse. It meandered about, swerving through the bodies of the dead with careless abandon, crushing them under tire. Several of the mismatched soldiers sat in the back, flung side to side by the antics, their weapons crashing against the steel deck with every unnecessary swerve. Even from here, their cursing could be heard as they wrestled with inertia to maintain balance.

"We have to go now," I told them as I turned from the window.

"Maybe they're friendly?" Mariel asked hopefully, an optimistic smile gracing her face. She looked at us all, only to find we all had the same expression of severity, the mute answer written across all our faces. She sighed, crestfallen as she finished, "I didn't think so."

Naishe stepped in this time, pointing out that, "Unless you plan to jump from the top of the tower, I don't see how we can get out; there's only one door, and that'll lead us straight into their sights." I considered the option for a moment; we could possibly make it, but the ground below probably wasn't stable. That meant one of us was likely to break a bone if we tried, which would just leave us wounded, slowed, and prime targets for hunting. Naishe must've noticed my contemplation, as she blanched. "I am not jumping more than ten metres, Lelouch. Besides, we can't even get onto the top of this building; can't open the door, remember," She reiterated, and I carefully considered what was to be done.

"What other option do we have? We have one gun, and there are at least a dozen of them," I asked, more to myself than anyone else. We were trapped in an old, crumbling fortress, no way to escape. There was only one way in, and if they knew we were here, they could storm the place with ease, considering there wasn't even a door anymore. The tower itself was relatively cramped, especially with the overabundance of rotted furntiture. We had one gun, a sling, a pot of fuel which had undergone god knows what experiments, a few knives and a cupboard of expired cleaning products.

Like the pieces of a puzzle, a plan formed in my head, and I couldn't help the grin that took my face as I turned to the others.

"Naishe and Gareth, start shifting the furniture and make a barricade up the stairs. Slow them down," I commanded. They seemed unsure, but followed my orders regardless. Turning to the petite girl that was watching me with huge green eyes, my grin became so much more sinister.

"Marie, you're with me."

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Nina E. is online (9:32:31PM)

SillyMilly69 says: hey nina! havent seen u at all recently

whats it like workin now?

SillyMilly69 says: nina? yooooohooooooo? u there?

Nina E. says: Oh… Hello Milly. I'm well.

SillyMilly69 says: really

thats all you have to say

SillyMilly69 says:no, thank you sooooo much milly, i'm loving working for your father.

im hurt :(

SillyMilly69 says: nina I no ur there

cum on tell me all the juicy stories

is it like u imagined

Nina E. says: Milly…. I'm scared

SillyMilly69 says: what? whats wrong?

Nina E. says: There's this…. boy there. I have to work with him.

SillyMilly69 says: ooooooh! is little nina finally noticing boys other than our dear lelouch? ;)

Nina E. says: He's an 11

SillyMilly69 says: Are you ok Nina?

Nina E. says: I'm so scared. I didn't show up to work today. I couldn't

What am I supposed to do, Milly?

I don't think I could go back.

Why is there an 11 there?

Why would your father hire one of those…. things?

SillyMilly69 says: nina, shhh. calm down.

Nina E. says: How can I calm down milly?!

Dont you have any idea what they did to me?

why would you do this to me?

SillyMilly69 says: nina, please calm down

don't you trust me?

SillyMilly69 says: nina?

Nina E.says: Yes, I do.

SillyMilly69 says: ouch, had to think about that?

do you trust lelouch?

Nina E. says: Yes

SillyMilly69says: well, he thought you weres strong and smart enough to work there

dad hires ppl on lelouchs recommendation

that 11 cant be too bad if lelouch thought he was good enough to be hired

and lelouch mustve paired you two up cause he thinks you 2 can do good things together.

do we have to send a message to him in pendragon to let him know you don't believe in him?

Nina E.says: You're right Milly. I'll

I'll try

SillyMilly69 says: good!

maybe you can make sum friends while your there :)

Nina E. says: I have to finish some of my work for Doctor Kelly. Some homework to get an idea of what I'm capable of. I'll be back at school tomorrow.

SillyMilly69 says: yay! we missed you nina.

natalie was so sad when you disappeared right after lulu

she was scared our little group was falling apart

Nina E. says: Please tell her I'm sorry

Talk to you later, Milly

SillyMilly69 says: ttyl :)

Nina E. has gone offline (9:49:26PM)

-Transcript of conversation on Ashford Academy Social Network between Ashford, Milly M. and Einstein, Nina T., 29/09/2015 A.T.B.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXX.

The lake the party is at is Lac la Ronge, in the provincial park.

Naishe: 24 Years Old, Spanish

Gareth: 21 Years Old, English

Mariel: 19 Years Old, Welsh/Irish

Technically, Lelouch is actually 14 as well, as his birthday is in December

Terribly sorry about the wait everyone. It was entirely outside of my control….. Actually, no it was just because I can be excessively lazy. It's literally been sitting at 15k words for over a month now. Kind of sad that I was way too far behind to post this for the one year anniversary of this story…. But hey, here is an excessively large chunk of text, so enjoy? It was going to be even bigger. I was actually going to conclude the fight in the tower, and then have another fight elsewhere. It probably would have taken the chapter up to 25k-30k long, so that is the next chapter…. plus a little more, obviously.

My only consolation is that I recently read several stories that only just broke the 40k word barrier that took well over three years to complete, which makes my story at least a little bit better timewise. Still, I could stand to improve it a little. Oh well.

As always, thank you for reading. It is much appreciated.

And because I took too long, I added in a recap for all, so you wouldn't have to backtrack to remember what the hell was going on.

Special thanks to Muledragon and my own little sister for thoroughly beating the crap out of my writing until it resembled something sensical.

Until I stop by again with another chapter, (Hopefully without having to wait 5 months -_- ), kind regards,

Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo