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.

5. The Prisoner, Act 1, Turn 5

THIS CHAPTER IS AS OF YET UNEDITED. ANY MISTAKES YOU MIGHT FIND, PLEASE PM ME SO THAT I CAN FIX THEM.

A BRIEF RECAP:

Lelouch wakes up discarded on the ground, beaten and bruised from the abusive journey to the middle of the wilderness. Naishe cleans him up and gets him some ragged old clothing, recycled from overuse. Once clothed, a mysterious ally in the form of a soldier slips a watch into Lelouch's pocket with nary a word. They then join the rest of the group and go marching. They eventually come to a lake, with a single tower built along the shore, where thousands had gathered. There, it was revealed the true intent of this expedition: to weed out the weaklings in a massive deathmatch. As the guards fire into the crowd, Lelouch is knocked out by a falling body.

Marrybell joined Schniezel at a party in Luciano Bradley's mansion, where the nobility have gathered to place wagers on the penal legion deathmatch, the entire thing a game for their sick amusement.

In the heart of the rebellion, Naoto is faced with a nigh impossible task- Sway the mind of the leader to one of the most successful guerrilla humanitarian groups in Japan, a woman with fierce determination and abhorrence to violence. Whilst trying to plan for this mission, the young Lady Kaguya pays him a visit, offering him some advice.

With a body laying atop him, Lelouch awakened in a field of corpses, the dead shielding him from the attack. Finding Naishe, the two let their guard down, and were attacked by a soldier. Despite their best efforts, the soldier resisted their attacks, and was only brought down by the serendipitous arrival of Naishe's close friends, Gareth and Mariel. Their luck was to run out, as while they looted an empty tower, a truck filled with soldiers came rushing through the thicket, straight for the tower they are in.

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Proctor of the Twilight Empire

The Wolf Returns, Wearing the Skin of a Sheep

Turn 5

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'Exiled Prince, Lelouch vi Britannia discovered!'

'-Prince Lelouch vi Britannia made his debut after his apparent death in Area 11 just last Thursday, revealing his part in the failure to calm hostilities with the former Eleven Government-'

'- the prince revealed he'd been hiding amongst the Ashford family, former allies to the late Empress Marianne-'

'-though the method of his blackmail and extortion are unknown, it is without doubt the Ashford's were under duress when the prince requested asylum-'

'-vi Britannia was unrepentant for his action, boasting of his ingenuity in extorting the Ashford's into providing him safety from his crimes against Britannia, claiming, "They had no option but to say yes to me. They were in no position to refuse,"-'

'-the prince has been sentenced to service in the Judicial Rehabilitation Legion for his ultimate failure in the tasks set by the emperor himself, who "had great faith in the ability of his child", comments High Bishop Constance, and his cowardice in hiding from such a failure-'

'-FOX news sends it's sincerest condolences to the members of the Ashford family, after having to live through the tyranny of the megalomaniac exiled prince for so many years. An immense weight must be lifted from your shoulders now that he is safely in the Penal Legion's custody-'

-Helen Gunther, excerpts from script of 'FOX news' report, aired 1830, 28/09/2015 A.T.B.

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Prisoner Lucas Shen

September 29th, 2015 A.T.B.

EARLY MORNING

Saskatchewan, Area 2

My teeth chattered with every bump and knock, my jaw slackened enough that even a pebble under the tire of this rumbling beast was enough to slam the cracked teeth and swollen gums against one another. It didn't hurt; I knew it should hurt, I knew that it did hurt, I even knew that my teeth were screeching in pain this very second. I knew all this, yet it meant nothing, because I couldn't feel it. My head was heavy, and muggy, my thoughts so hard to think, it felt like they were swimming through honey. The pain existed I knew, but it was like trying to hear a whisper through a vault door. I knew that my mouth should hurt, but it doesn't, and that is what concerns me the most.

My eyes told me nothing of my surroundings, just an endless black brought on by something covering them. It had taken me a while to figure that out, the feeling in my face only just coming too enough to feel the fabric covering them. I had thought I was dead for some time, my senses dulled to the point of numbness. The only thing that had kept my mind rooted was the gentle hum that had breached the barriers my mind has erected, permeating through my very thoughts until nothing but the drone remained. As time had drawn on, the hum grew, louder and louder, until it was immense roar. The black void which had ensconced my mind had begun to retreat, each nerve in my body shaking their grogginess and waking from their slumber. I started to recognise the distant, muffled sensations, bringing me both relief and dread.

The tightness in my shoulders, and the faintest touch of cold along my wrists was all I need to know regarding my status; I was once again in cuffs, this time my arms pulled tight behind my back to impair my functionality further. My knees were also complaining of the fingers of frost climbing their way through the worn muscle and weary bone, and the dull throb brought by each bounce the deck made promised me pain once whatever drug I'd been administered wore off. I was in the back of a truck, that much I'd figured out, and they'd bound and blindfolded me, probably to keep me subdued. Not that I could do anything anyway, not while my muscles were not responding to any of my demands. No, I had to sit here, knelt on the back of a truck, hands bound, eyes covered, my head lolling back and forth until my stomach threatened to heave its contents from the dizziness setting in, my fuzzed mind fighting to make sense of the sensation, my jaw slamming shut with even bump.

And a faint tingle on the back of my head was growing, irritating me to no end.

The chatter of soldiers may as well be aliens speaking double Dutch, their voices barely audible over the sound of the engine and the crunch of foliage and stones under tires. Through strained ears, I tried to listen in to whatever conversation they were having. My efforts were for naught, as even though I could hear what they were saying, the words were intangible, undecipherable to my mind, so I just gave up the attempt and started counting. Each time another spoke up, I counted how many soldiers there might be; it was a stupid game, but it at least gave me something to focus on while my body flushed its system. At last count, I'd put the number close to eight different voices just in the tray with me.

It was without warning, without ceremony or even a lull of any kind that I then found myself with a boot planted swiftly between my shoulder blades, my head no longer swaying with the motions of the truck but instead weightless, my entire body caught on the wind. As I slammed on the ground, the sharp rocks and dried leaves all digging into my skin, the freezing water collecting on my bare flesh as I rolled, my clouded mind tried to find some point of reference for the seemingly endless tumble to stop the awful nausea rising in my gut. Even as I come to a stop atop a pile of rocks, the entire situation felt surreal, like a dream; the distant pain like a figment of my imagination, like I knew I was supposed to hurt but reality didn't match.

As I lay on a bed of stones, the fuzz slowly trickling from my brain and into my limbs like a cloud of pins and needles settling over me, I kept my breathing under control. With my eyes covered, there was little I could do beyond stumbling around anyway. I tensed my arms, the chains jingling lightly behind me, the cuffs digging lightly. The metal was strong, the links of the chain tough enough to resist pulling apart, at least until after the metal was an inch deep in bone. I'd have to snap the swivels holding the chain together to get these off.

And the tingling along the back of my skull had grown to a full blown itch.

Wriggling slightly, I brought my arms down to my rear and tucked my legs to my chest. Despite my inebriated state, I managed to slip the cuffs over my legs without causing too much damage. Quickly, I brought my hands to my head and felt at the cloth covering my eyes. The feeling in my fingers was disorienting, like I was trying to touch something while wearing several layers of gloves. My fingers trailed along the cloth, trying to find where it was tied. Finding the knot on the right hand side, my fingers fumbled with the ends of the sash, the numbed digits struggling to grasp the ragged fabric. Finally, with a final tug, the sash came free and my eyes were greeted by near blackness anyway.

Great.

Lowering my hands from my face, I tried focusing my sight on the nearest tree, or at least I assumed it was a tree. Even the moon was absent, the only light the stars themselves, too small to make a difference. Must be nearing dawn. The stars glittered along the ripples of a small trickling stream. The trees were ominous and tall, their very existence ominous and seemingly malicious. With this little light, my hands bound and my body sluggish, I prayed to whatever god out there that there weren't any wolves in the immediate vicinity.

My god it was itchy; what the hell did they do to my head?

I dug my hands into the dirt around me, the gravel coarse with sediment and stone. Digging my fingers deeper, I scooped up a hefty handful of it, coating the links with the slurry, making sure the grains of sand and stone worked their way into the chain and its swivels. I gyrated my hands, the gravel grinding against the links with more and more difficulty, catching every now and then.

Tucking the sash into the briefs provided by the prison, the only clothing I'd received, I slowly lifted myself up on unsteady legs. They felt like jelly under me, threatening to give way at any moment. Each step I took was leaden, like my feet were tied to bricks. Regardless, I pushed forward, stumbling across the earthen floor, roots and stones passing underfoot, catching my toes and tripping me up every so often. Pins and needles were now tearing their way through me, my entire body struggling against the sudden influx of sensation. Yet I continued to shuffle forward, determined to remove these cuffs.

The itch was painful and persistent, my mind rooted the wildfire spreading through the thin skin.

I stumbled across the floor until I found what I was looking for; tucked beneath a tree sat a large, sharp stone, its unrefined edge perfect for what I needed. Catching the chain against the ridge of the stone, I ran the metal along the jagged edge in a saw like motion. The scraping was loud, my ears having just grown accustomed to the near perfect silence now ringing. With each run, my ears rang a little louder, and my wrists grew a little sorer. The metal pulled and pushed against the barely scabbed skin, the vibrations wracking the abused bone. But the sawing continued, the chain growing ragged, the stone catching and scratching the steel.

Finally satisfied, I brought the cuffs together, clicking the swivels into the links over and over until they locked together. Allowing myself a slight smile, I crossed my hands in a swift, sharp motion, and was rewarded with an audible snap. Pulling my hands apart, I was pleased to find a swivel snapped cleanly off, hanging on barely by a crooked, split link.

With my hands unbound, I did the first thing that came to my mind; I scratched the back of my head furiously. The coarse, prickly fuzz of my shorn head caught on my rough fingers, the nails digging into raw, itchy flesh. I scratched furiously until my fingers were warm and wet, and continued, determined to stop the itch. Finally, oh god finally, the itch stopped, and I couldn't help the loud, contented groan that escaped my lips as I stood there, revelling in the relief from that goddamn itch. I shuddered in pleasure, my eyes shut and hands hanging loosely at my sides.

A low growl broke my trance, the sound not one I'd heard before; it certainly didn't sound like an engine. Cracking my eyes open a little, I tried to find the source, but the low light did nothing to help. I could hear it every now and then, the sound inconsistent, intermittent, but definitely there. Probably an animal of some kind. It was lonely, meaning it wasn't a pack of wolves. If it was by itself, I could probably scare it off; it wouldn't attack a threat, would it? Carefully, slowly, I knelt down, my hands fumbling along the ground, the leaves and gravel running along my fingers until I found what I was looking for. Hefting up the larger rock, I listened for the source of the growling. Juggling the stone in hand, getting a feel for its weight and shape, I locked in on the supposed creature. Pulling my arm back, I pelted the rock, its hard surface soaring into the dark.

The stone hit it's mark with a satisfying smack. Hopefully that'll scare it away.

Except, instead of scurrying, I was met with a roar that set my heart on edge, and froze the blood in my veins. The beast emerged from the dark, a massive silhouette on its hind legs that towered over me, its body rippling with muscle, it's long, sharp teeth dripping with glistening drool. My mouth ran dry as it furiously slammed its front paws on the ground, the earth shaking beneath my feet. My breath hitched as the monstrous form skulked to me. My body was tense, my limbs shaking ever so slightly as the bears beady eyes shown in the near lightless dawn, its fangs bared, ready to attack.

Another soul rending roar bellowed from the beast, and it charged, its heavy feet crushing the foliage beneath it, its massive body barrelling towards me.

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Prisoner Naishe Ibarra

September 29th, 2015 A.T.B.

Saskatchewan, Area 2

My ears rang as another shower of stone exploded next to me, the broken shards of stone cutting my face. A faint powder of the broken masonry filled the air as shot after shot pounded against the thin window I was set behind. I hacked up a cough as the dust invaded my lungs, my eyes watering as some of the grit got caught in them. The knuckles of my left hand were white against the fore-end of the stock. My right still ached with every thunderous beat of my heart, blood oozing from the split in the foremost knuckle. My head was swimming in the cacophony of sound, the headache I'd been sporting amplified until my mind could barely make sense of the hammering within my skull.

As the weapons fire started to dull, I leant to the side, the barrel of my assault rifle peaking from the small window. The small crook of iron acting as the sight swayed slightly, the metal marker wobbling as I tried to line it up with one of the enemy soldiers. My vision was starting to blur around the edges, and my breathing heavy and laboured, I leant against the tower wall for support. With my bleeding hand wrapped tightly around the grip, my shaking fingers depressed the trigger. The butt of the rifle kicked into my arm, and my hand bounced off the weapon, throbbing with pain. The bullet bounced from the armour the target wore, only a shout of surprise achieved through my agony. I growled as I flung myself back, the fast hammering of automatic weapons renewed, my ears becoming numbed against the sharp pings of bullets and shattering stone.

Gareth was near the stairwell, hefting the desks into a barricade, the shriek of wood as it dragged against the stone echoing against the stonework.

"And why can't you do this?" I yelled to him, my voice growing hoarse as it fought for dominance against the pounding of gunfire.

His face was sweaty as it looked to me, his sharp golden eyes lighting up with mirth. "That's 'cause you wanted the gun, princess," He jeered back, and I felt the anger within my boiling over. He must've noticed too, because he quickly added, "Besides, you can't use a sling for shit. That's the only other weapon we've got, and only I can use it; or so our most glorious leader says."

Another shot hit a bit close, and I flinched as another spray of stone caught me. "Speaking of, where is he?" I asked, struggling to keep the rifle tucked into my shoulder.

With another table in hand, he gave the closest to a shrug he could, his eyes focused solely on the tablet in front of him. "He and Marie both went upstairs," He answered, scraping the wooden legs against the stone again, "I don't know what the boy has planned, but if it involves her, I'm going to take a stab in the dark and say it has something to do with mad science."

"You do realise chemistry isn't mad science, right?" I quipped, peaking through the stone window as the shooting subsided slightly. They must've noticed me through the gap, because the gunfire started again. I recoiled from the window, resting myself against the stone wall

"The way she does it certainly is," He retorted, punctuated by another creak of wood, "That shit may as well be black magic for all I care."

"Come on, she isn't that bad."

"Naishe, she made water explode," Gareth explained with a deadpan, pausing to let it sink in, "on purpose." He finished, shaking his head in bemused exasperation, "When you can explain to me how to make water explode, give me a call, ok?"

I chuckled, ducking to the side and firing another shot. My bleary eyes could barely make out the puff of smoke as the bullet bounced on the ground a foot from my targets feet. With a frown I dodged back to the safety the stone wall brought, glancing back to the man as he finished his struggle against the wooden barricade. "Maybe if you picked up a book once in your life," I chided, another barrage of copper and lead chewing away the cover I desperately clung to.

"I would, but you keep me far too busy," He jeered with a wink, sidling up to the wall across the window from me. He reached out to me, the intent clear, and I blissfully conceded, tossing the automatic weapon across the small gap and into his awaiting hands.

"Oh you love it," I joked as he checked over the weapon for any visible defects, pulling the bolt back to check that ammunition was still loaded into the shaft.

"Never said I didn't," He grinned, ducking out and taking a shot. Through the corner of my eye, I saw as the faintest glimmer slammed into one of our attackers, knocking him flat on his arse, before bouncing with an audible twang into the ether. Gareth growled, his hands tightening around the fore grip, before mumbling to no one in particular, "Oh, that's fine. I didn't want to kill him anyway or anything."

"Maybe if you learnt to shoot better," I quipped back, catching the slightest hint of daggers from his gleaming eyes. A smirk lit my face, one contagious enough to spread to the man's own scarred one. Like a tightly coiled viper, Gareth bounded from the cover and laid down three more shots, ducking past the window and landing right next to me, pushing me from the edge of the window with a cheeky grin.

"You two done, or can we focus on the issue at hand?" The young boy's voice called from the stairwell. My eyes darted up to him, where he stood high and mighty, his face cocked with a faint smirk, but his eyes spoke a different story. Like before, as we'd approached the tower, his amethyst eyes subtly analysed every movement, darting to whoever spoke, scrutinizing every word that left another's mouth. He was watching, trying to figure us all out, the dynamics; finding the chink in our social armour, like we were another foe to tackle. It wasn't surprising; Gareth did much the same, plastering a false cheer on his face as he joked around with the new guy, his own golden eyes stripping him down. Both boy's bodies were constantly primed for attack, and not one from the soldiers outside, but from a shank in the back. I could only hold down a sigh at the notion; like this runt could even stab us in the back and get away with it.

As if on mental cue, the older man shrugged against the wall, gesturing casually about as he called out, "Oh, don't mind us. You can go back to having your little chat back up there. We're fine over here. Having a blast. Nothing more relaxing than being caught in a firefight with our pants down." His words, spat with sarcasm and flippancy as they were, were difficult to hear over the ruckus of gunfire, the pings of metal tearing away the outer structure punctuating his point.

Slinking from the stone passage upstairs, Lelouch gestured behind him, and Mariel came trundling out with her dainty brows knit in determination, tins sloshing about in her arms as she waddled down the stairs, keeping clear of the window. "Mariel, plant the tins over by that barricade and around the room. Douse the string, and trail it to the others," The boy commanded, pointing to the barricade Gareth had set up. Mariel nodded in understanding, nonplussed by the racket of gunfire pummelling our position. With the girl out of the way, Lelouch marched up to us, his diminutive figure almost demanding obedience in his wake. "What's the current status?" He asked, making sure to steer clear of the window where streams of lead flowed.

"Well, we haven't killed any of them, but we're all still alive, so that's a bonus, I suppose." I answered.

"So what did you get up to upstairs, eh?" Gareth asked, letting his curiosity known first, his eyes trailing the girl with her arms laden in tins and a fierceness that only came off as adorable on her tiny face.

"I thought to investigate the locking mechanism on the door upstairs," he responded, directing his attention to me as he no doubt noticed the frown making its way onto my face, "No matter what you might say, trying our luck through the roof would've been better than certain death in here. But you were right; I haven't the tools to even attempt breaking it open, and tampering with it is a sure fire way to kill myself." Gareth popped out the window again, laying down a few more shots as Lelouch explained what I already knew. Irritation was welling in my chest at his revelation; why would I lie about such a thing?

"I did say that, now didn't I," I exclaimed with a deadpan. Shaking off the annoyance at being doubted, I tried a smile despite the constant hammering building inside my head, and the slow, gut clenching fingers of anxiety slowly coiling in my gut. "So did you enjoy your little break? Sitting on your hands must've helped get the blood flowing to that big brain of your."

With a half snort of amusement, he flexed his hand in front of him, considering them for a moment. "Well, I have to warm them up somehow, so unless you're offering," He said, turning to me with a smirk.

Having finished his covering fire, the man to my side chuckled under his breath. "So not just smarter than your average turnip, but a quick tongue as well; now where did you get that?"

"Oh, Mariel gave it to me upstairs" the boy answered in a heartbeat, and I withheld a puff of laughter; it would only encourage them.

"No need to fight boys; you're both pretty," I placated, putting the two back in their place with a strained, jovial grin, "now, let's put our cock's away before I start taking this pissing contest seriously and whip out the tape measure.".

"As long as you don't whip yours out, I'm sure I'll win this one," Gareth assured with a half-smile, leaping from the wall, the bolt slamming back three more times and ejecting the spent shells onto the stone floor with a cling.

"All done! What now?" Mariel boldly proclaimed, her stance rigid like a child pretending to play soldier, a long string trailing behind her. Gareth blanched as he saw it, his golden eyes laden with unadulterated fear, pure

"What's the string for?" He asked, voice wavering with every syllable.

Mariel flashed a bright smile to the man. "A fuse," she chirped indicating to the tins placed about the room.

Gareth's warm, vibrant cheeks drained of colour, his golden eyes locked with her green ones as he carefully asked her, "you're gon'na blow something up, aren't you Marie?" She nodded vigorously to him, her little face set with a determined edge, and his entire body seemed to slump, a long, drawn sigh of exasperation leaving his lips. "Don't you remember what happened last time?" he pleaded, and even now I could not shake the shit-eating grin I wore at the memory, Lelouch standing to the side in confusion.

Mariel's face dropped into a pout, and she nervously twiddled her fingers under his disapproving gaze, "I promise I didn't mean to. Your beard grew back, didn't it?" Her frown was immediately replaced by a reassuring smile, something much more terrifying than it should have been. "Besides, you don't have one this time! I can't blow up something that isn't there, right?" She insisted.

Gareth's eyes remained deadlocked on the girl, a mixture of panic and worry so very clear, while my own travelled to the mastermind of this entire plot. "So what is the plan, then?" I asked, "I take it sitting in here while your bombs roast us isn't the be all and end all?"

Lelouch entertained a haughty smirk as he pointed to the only other door visible on the floor; a room we'd already checked over.

"A broom closet?" I asked, staring at the boy incredulously, my mind drawing blanks as to what the boy had planned as it fought against the slow creep of pain snaking its way inside. .

My confused stare was only broken when a hysterical laugh distracted me. Looking behind me, I found Gareth doubled over, his cheeks stained with dirt and grit and streaked by the tears on his face. "I sure am glad you brought this one along. I always wanted to entrust my life to someone so batshit they smelt like your Christmas punch," He breathlessly exclaimed.

"Oh, I remember that one!" Mariel mused, her pert face scrunched in distaste, "I've never seen so much rotten fruit before."

A retort was on the tip of my tongue, ready to berate them for bringing up that one time, but I was too slow, my mind too muddled by the slowly creeping pain, and I was cut off when our other accomplice simply sighed, drawing our attention back to him. With a flippant hand wave, he gestured for us to follow him. "Just follow my lead." Mariel looked to me, her giant green eyes looking to me for direction, unsure whether or not to heed his orders. I tried to hide it, but even now I could feel myself starting to sway, my head was heavy, my vision growing fuzzy about the edges; I didn't -more like couldn't- have any better ideas, and I'd rather bite the barrel than listen to one of Gareth's plans. With a sigh of my own, I nodded to her with heavy lidded eyes.

Gareth ducked out of cover one last time, emptying the remainder of his magazine into the soldiers below, both the man and the weapon letting loose a wild howl. He must've noticed us walking to the cupboard, as his face lit with a wry grin. "My my, taking me into a dark broom closet so suddenly; this is too fast. I'm not sure I feel the same way," He remarked as he quickly made to catch up to us, rifle held in one hand.

A quiet giggle escaped Mariel, and I could only facepalm at his droll attempt at humour. My legs were growing weaker with each step, and the buzz of adrenaline that had sustained me since the first sign of gunfire was now growing dull. It didn't stop me from sending an elbow straight into his ribs. "I swear to god Gareth, if you don't shove your ass into that closet, I will drag it in there myself," I weakly joked, his golden eyes turning to me, clouded with concern.

Without another word, he gently wrapped an arm around my back, catching one of my own to provide support to me, taking the strain from my legs. "Oh, promises, promises," he muttered under his breath, flashing me a faint smile.

We made it into the cupboard, a cramped, dark, damp, hard room with nothing in it, just like the last time we'd been in here. It was cramped in here with the four of us, my body pressed flush against the cold stone and Gareth crushed by Mariel and the door. As the girl shifted by me, the string she held hung precariously close to my nose, and I fought the urge to gag; the thing was doused in something awful. How I hadn't smelt it before, I don't know. With the wooden door closed, there was hardly a single speck of light visible, yet this did not disconcert our fearless leader. No, he just groped the walls like a madman. The warmth of my friends arm gone as he lowered me against the wall, he looked to the boy who might have just led us to our death, asking abruptly, "So, where is our convenient escape route, oh so knowledgeable one?"

He turned to face the older man, hushing him. "Be quiet; the soldiers will be up soon to see where we went," He chastised, and I couldn't help the weak snicker that left my lips at the sheer authority and reverence the boy demanded, so great was it that it left even the ever chatty Gareth confounded for a brief moment. With Gareth flabbergasted, the boy returned to groping the walls. His hand finally found perch on what he was looking for, as he made grunt of approval, the gentle scrape of fingernails on stone punctuating his words as he said, "And to answer your question, our escape is right here."

With a heave and a grunt, the boy shifted the stone bit by bit, the grating of the brick along its peers prominent in the deep silence we held, the anticipation palpable as he removed the stone cover, carefully placing it on the ground, his breathing heavy and strained as he heaved for more air; god, that puffed him? As he doubled over, gasping for air, my eyes wandered to where the stone had been, where a small, red light glittered, lighting up a small panel where a swipe card would fit.

"Ok, do I want to know how you knew how to find that?" Gareth asked, his cheery voice hiding a severe edge, suspicious and unnerving. His hands sat precariously at his waistline, ready to unravel the leather strap tucked in there.

"Britannian military facilities have had multiple escape routes constructed into them since the rebellions, in case a royal family member was ever visiting and they were attacked. This tower is no different. It's just a case of finding where they hid it," Lelouch explained between gasps of air, his violet eyes watching the larger man, challenging him to make the move.

"That's awfully convenient knowledge to just know for some commoner,"

"Not just the royalty used these passages. The contractors did as well," He said as he righted himself, glaring to the man and indicating to the door, "is this really the time and place to be interrogating me?"

"Oh stop being an arse, Gareth. We've more important things to do," I whispered, my voice only a squeak; just keeping my eyes open was becoming more difficult, the thrum behind my eyes begging me to just close them and take a break. The man in question looked down to me, the concern from before present, but I just dismissed it with a wave of my hand; it wasn't anything I hadn't had before. With a leer I added, "If you don't stop, I'll tell Kitten what really happened to her lab coat."

Her green eyes snapped to me in an instant, their usual inquisitive gleam amplified under the dim light to a dangerous glint, "What do you mean? What happened to my lab coat?"

"You wouldn't," Gareth pleaded, his eyes fixed

"Try me. You won't get any for a week,"

"Naishe? What happened to it?" Mariel insisted, her brilliant green eyes begging me for the information.

He must've seen me open my mouth, as he interrupted with a haste I hadn't seen of him in a very long time. "So, I don't suppose you got the pass key with you, or should I just let myself keel over from the collective body odour before I give the tin men a shot at me?" He asked to the boy who was still focused upon the small panel he'd revealed, and our attention was all drawn to him, if even for a split second, as we waited for the answer.

"I don't need it," He answered, revealing the toil of his work while we'd been arguing, the casing of the pad stripped away to reveal the internal wiring. "Mariel, hold the thread up to me; try not to rip it," he commanded, and the girl did as such, her questions left unanswered as her attention was drawn so easily. Lelouch pulled out a few wires, sparks leaping from the connectors to the copper, illuminating the room with each thundering snap. Taking the string from her hand, he carefully held it in his mouth. I couldn't understand what he had in mind, my own mind so clouded I couldn't be bothered thinking, but Mariel's little bounce of excitement meant I wasn't too far from an explanation.

"Oh, so that's what you planned to use as the ignition source! That's so clever," She exclaimed loudly, her own voice startling her as she clamped down her mouth, her cheeks glowing red in embarrassment. "Because we didn't have a way to light the string, and the sparking electricity would have be enough to light it, and I didn't know what he had in mind and I'm going to shut up now," she mumbled, her voice growing meeker and her face growing brighter as it flushed with embarrassment. Everyone but the boy noticed, and we were all swept up by a nervous chuckle, Gareth's evolving into a full blown laugh.

Without warning, a pebble smacked into Gareth's shoulder, his eyes fixed upon the stone for a brief second in shock, before turning up to his assailant, the boy still working upon the panel with an almost unfaltering concentration. "If you're done making noise, reload that gun and watch for the soldiers."

"As you wish, most glorious leader," Gareth mumbled, ejecting the magazine and pulling out another from our dishevelled rucksack on Lelouch's back, slotting it into the weapon with a metallic 'shlick', pulling back the hammer and letting it slam back. Shuffling and nudging past Mariel and I, he set himself up by the door, peeping through the tiniest of gaps in the wood. We all sat in silence for a brief moment, only the slight fidgeting of gloved hands and the faint sounds of heavy boots clacking on the stone floors downstairs. The silence was growing awkward, the tenseness we all felt growing as the sound of footsteps drew closer, Mariel -who'd come to the reality of the situation- quivering slightly in anxiety, Gareth set in devout concentration.

"You know how to hotwire military locks?" I asked offhandedly to Lelouch, and the boy made a grunt of affirmation, his attention devoted entirely to the console, occasional sparks zapping between the wires as he connected them, the faint smell of burnt wool permeating the air as his gloved fingers worked the hazardous wires. With a wry grin, I whispered, "how shocking."

Mariel giggled under her breath, her shoulders shaking from laughter now, her face riddled with not only fear, but the smallest spark of mirth. Gareth sighed, but otherwise kept his composure with only a small grin on his face. I could hardly make out Lelouch, his body only illuminated by the briefest sparks of light, but the tenseness in his shoulders seemed to have lessened a little.

The humour wrought was crushed when a sudden crash of steel on stone shook the door, the ruckus drawing all of our attention back to the door. "One of them has just climbed over the barricade," Gareth called, and I shimmied myself to the door to look through a gap of my own. The enemy that had jumped over the desks was lightly armoured at best, his shins and feet covered in heavy metal, the plates cobbled together. Another bent, buckled piece formed a makeshift pauldron on his left shoulder, held in place by worn leather straps crossing over a nearly bare chest, the rags that made his shirt joined by bare threads on his left shoulder. In his right hand, he carried a long, flat steel plate, the end in hand covered by leather strapping, and sharpened along one side to form a makeshift machete. In his left, an old, rust covered revolver. He meandered about the room, looking about for any sign where we'd disappeared off to, his eyes darting about, watching for any sign of movement. When he saw nothing, he rapped the barrel of his weapon against the wooden barricade.

It was only a heartbeat later when two more peered over the edge of the barricade, climbing the stack of desks with careful hands. They were very careful in how the hefted themselves, their eyes peering from the cobbled masks of steel, leather, and junk with unnerving precision. With each movement, they steered clear of the most densely packed areas, their actions speaking of fear and experience. "They're searching for traps," Gareth muttered to my side, his voice so quiet I thought I'd imagined it until his hawkish eyes glanced to me. As I returned my gaze to the soldiers, I couldn't help the morbid fascination I felt as I watched them meticulously work. Their climb over the barricade was almost a suicidal task, but they did it with the same blasé attitude one would go about cutting a sandwich. As they came to the top of the barricade, the first one helped them down, their boots clomping on the cobblestone, echoing throughout the entire tower.

The first wore a vest of Kevlar, strung with tin plates and pelts hastily stitched on. She wore a battered tin helmet pockmarked with dozens of bullet holes and stripped of its green paint. The bottom half of a gas mask covered her face from the nose below, the goggles shorn by some manner of beast as evidenced by the three jagged scars crossing her right eye and down her cheek. She carried a submachine gun in her hands, the model unknown to me, but if I had to take a guess, I'd say of Chinese design, given its odd bullpup stock.

The next wore no armour at all, clad in only a pair of standard military overalls that shockingly actually matched. Gareth snorted in amusement at my grumbling as I watched him, my envy growing as I watched the only person I'd yet seen with actual clothes in good condition. He carried only a holstered pistol, this one in near perfect condition. My god; if looks could kill, I'd have looted his corpse by now.

Two more made to climb over, and as their feet crashed into the ground below, Gareth updated Lelouch, "Counting five over the barricade." Turning my eyes back to the boy, he gave no indication of having heard us except the slightest hint of a nod.

Gareth continued his watch as pair after pair came over the barricade, each with an almighty crash that left my already throbbing head in excruciating pain, my eyes clamped shut as I fought the blurriness around my eyes. "Eleven over the barricade now,"

"Almost there," Lelouch whispered determinedly, the faint snap of electricity and spark of light punctuating the words.

Through the crack in the door I could see as the nearest thug's spine straighten, her stance stiffer as her eyes watched around for the source of the noise. She was a pretty thing, her golden hair matted in dirt, her tanned skin blistered and scarred, but pretty nonetheless. Spotting the rotted wooden door, she carefully trudged over, the stout shotgun in hand pointed carefully toward the door. Each step she took echoed in the tight cupboard, the stale air shaking as the metal caps clapped against the stone. With a slight shuffle, Gareth edged himself a little further from the door, bringing his own weapon to bear against the wood. "One's approaching," he whispered, the mirth ridden completely from his voice.

"I need more time," Lelouch insisted with a faint growl.

With each passing moment, the heavy steps rang louder. "That isn't likely to happen," Gareth muttered. Mariel's jaw chattered in anxiety.

"You've got a gun, use it." The boy snarled. His hands were a blur. Sparks flew faster. Blue light lit our faces. Mariel's giant doe eyes watched the door in terror. Gareth's jaw tightened in concentration. The steel barrel of our only weapon gleamed in the light, our glowing halo of protection.

Our pursuer was nearly at the precipice of the door. Her movements were slow and laboured. Her feet crept along the stone. Each step ground the stone. Scraping and scratching. Steel catching in the grooves. Sharp scratching as she shuffled her feet. My head pounded under the pressure. Through wet, hazy eyes, I saw her. She was about five feet away. "She's almost here," Gareth whispered. His voice was ragged as he tried to keep it restrained. The weapon he bore shook slightly.

Lelouch let loose an aggravated growl. His head snapped to the side. Electricity illuminated his furious snarl. My heart thundered and my palms grew cold. His eyes were cold and wicked. The light receded. All that remained was a silhouette. A dark, menacing, irrevocably sinister silhouette. "If you don't shut up, I will toss you out the door myself and use you as bait." He bore his teeth as he hissed with malice.

I could hardly speak. A small squeak escaped Mariel's lips. Gareth remained silent. Lelouch returned to his task.

"I'd like to see you try, you freaking skeleton," Gareth muttered lowly, his voice quaking slightly. Looking back to the door, we watched as the soldier sidled up to the doorway. Her weapon was ready to poke through the gap. Her hand searched for handle. Her eyes were locked on her quarry. The metal handle clicked as she made to open the door. With a heaving sigh, Gareth finally conceded.

"Ah, fuck it!" he yelled, his booted foot slamming into the rotten door with monumental force. It flung open, revealing the chamber ahead of us and a startled huntress. Before she could even bring the shotgun to bear, three loud 'bangs' rang in the solemn air. Her chest took two hits, while the third split her bare skull. A spray of bodily fluids jetted back, showering the floor with viscera and slivers of grey matter. And all was quiet as everyone stared on in shock, time drawn out until it felt like an eternity passed before my heart beat next. The soldiers all spun to face the gunfire. We all remained rooted to the floor as we watched the body hung in the air, gravity slothenly dragging the corpse to the ground. The well-dressed leader bemusedly widened his eyes, his hand trailing to the pistol. The girl with the gas mask raised her own weapon to fire. My body stiffened, ready to flee.

"Hurry," I suddenly heard from the boy behind us, followed by the snap of electricity and the loud whir of gears. A trail of bright orange flickered by my foot. The thread draped along the ground became a blaze of flame. The fuse was lit. My collar suddenly yanked. I was ripped across the floor deeper into the cupboard. The soldiers watched in shock as the fire crossed the stone floor. The gas mask girl's eyes widened. She threw her weapon aside and bolted. A dozen, ear shattering 'pops' shook the air. Brilliant flames splashed across the room. Shimmering steel whistled by, shredded all they came in contact with. The door slammed shut, blown by the explosion. Screams of agony pierced the wood. Mortified, I watched through the holes blown in the door as our attackers scrambled desperately for safety. They flailed about as the ferocious flames consumed them. The gentle sunlight of the morning was quenched. Only thick, black smoke remained. It crawled through the gaps in our rotted barricade like a monster threatening to strangle the life out of us. A wave of immense heat washed over me. The room was bright with flickering orange and reds lighting up the malicious smoke that suffocated us.

And then I was weightless, the world rushing past me. Until the ground greeted me all too soon.

It was soft. Softer than I thought it would be. About me, all I could make out was solid, dull grey walls, illuminated by gentle blaze of orange still roiling above our heads. Thick black smoke billowed through the hole we'd just vacated, trickling upwards, higher into the channel running the height of the building.

"You know, if you wanted to sit on my face, all you had to do is ask," I suddenly heard beneath me. The voice was strained and breathless, and in my foggy mind, I could barely register who it was. Sluggishly, I turned my eyes downward, finding a struggling, grinning Gareth looking back to me. With what effort I could muster, I rolled from his chest, letting him struggle for air. As I'd expected, the floor was hard and ungiving, the chill of the stone creeping

"Is everyone alright?" A softer voice -Mariel? - asked, her bare feet a gentle patter on the floor, confused and erratic as she tried navigate the darkness.

"I've had better days, kitten, but still alive," I mumbled woozily, my arms quaking as I tried to lift myself

"Yeah, I'm fine for now," Gareth pitched in as he rolled over and lifted himself up with a grunt. The light of the fire was growing dimmer, and I could hardly see him now. "Need some help?" He asked above me, and I happily extended my arm to him, his rough, filthy hands wrapping around my arm. With a yank, he hefted me to my feet, where I wobbled slightly, my legs betraying the exhaustion my fuddled mind felt. He barely paused before he wrapped my arm around his neck, supporting most my weight as if it were nothing. Even in the dark though, I could see the fatigue setting into his face, the adrenaline that had been fuelling his flagging body trickling away.

Several light footsteps approached us, Mariel's little face smiling weakly from the shadows, "I'm so glad we're alright." She looked up to our escape, her pert little face scrunched in a mixture and joy and tiredness. Turning to us, she quietly warned, "Be careful not to breathe in the smoke; it's extremely toxic."

"No smoke, got it." Gareth nodded, looking about us for something. Turning to face the younger girl, he asked, "By the way, where's Satan's little helper gotten off to?"

"Right here," As if a product of the shadows himself, the boy emerged into the dying light, one hand kept tucked in his coat, another fiddling with a piece of shiny metal. "Come along," he ordered us, and the three of us set in motion behind him, obediently following his command.

In this dark, dank tunnel, only our footsteps on the cold concrete filled the still air, occasionally broken up by the slightest shuffle, or the merest shudder in this chilled tomb. We weren't walking for long before our guide stopped us in our tracks. Before any of us could ask why, we all heard the harsh scraping of a flint; a lighter?

"Wait, if you had a lighter, then why didn't you use that to light the fuse on those bombs?" Gareth asked angrily, and even I admit that irritation was growing in me.

"The time it took for me to finish the circuit to open the door, pull the lighter from my pocket, mess around with a potentially wet flint, and light the fuse would have taken too long." Lelouch answered derisively, as if the answer were a blatant one, his attention all too focused upon the device in his hands. Under my arm, I felt as the muscles in my companions back drew taut, and his arm raised. With what little strength I had, I resisted against the irate man's arm. He stopped his actions, turning to me as weakly shook my head; now wasn't the time, no matter how much we wanted it to be. He seemed to understand me even if he couldn't clearly see me, and just sighed in a tiredness.

Finally, the boy managed to light the flame he desired, though it was tiny, and did little to light up anything save his face. This didn't seem to discourage him, however, as he just began scouring the wall. With a dejected huff, Gareth led me to the other wall, laying me down to rest against the concrete. As I slowly slumped into my position against the stone, Gareth sidled up beside me, his breath slow and deep, his body relaxed. Mariel's timid footsteps followed us soon after, her bare feet shuffling apprehensively as she waited for permission.

"Come and sit down, kitten," I invited, my words slurring slightly as I fought the urge to nod off. The girl happily accepted, her feet slapping the ground as she made her way over to us, flopping against the stone beside Gareth. He shuffled slightly, moving his arm to drape it around her shoulder and drew her small body even closer. And the three of us sat there, taking the breather we'd allowed ourselves, just taking in the cold, damp tunnel we'd found ourselves; at least the air didn't taste so stale here.

We'd only been waiting for a few breaths before Mariel finally spoke again, her pale green eyes pointed to the one thing we could see in the darkness, the large emerald beads lit by the tiny spark. "You hurt yourself," She queried worriedly, her focus fixed entirely upon the bobbing flame.

It took a half second, but the boy eventually answered dejectedly, "Yeah, I did. I think I landed on my foot wrong." I admit, I was surprised to hear the boy admit that kind of folly, but I didn't get too caught up in it.

"Come and join us. You should sit down," Mariel persisted, even patting the floor beside her as an invitation.

"I'm the only one here who's got any idea what to look for. If we don't get out, the trapped gas will settle down here and we'll all die anyway," Lelouch answered, his voice finally letting his exhaustion known. I could even now hear the spikes of pain that escaped his lips with each breath now as he tried to suppress the groans threatening to spill with every step he took.

"What are you even looking for?" Gareth asked, the previous venom in his voice lost as his own golden eyes watched the flame.

"A way to open the exit," The boy explained, the flame still drifting about the wall, illuminating tiny patches of dull concrete.

"How do you even know this is the exit? I haven't seen the end to this tunnel anywhere," Gareth pointed out, genuine curiosity in his tone now.

"I haven't been able to see anything at all," Mariel added, her usually chipper voice somewhat disheartened.

"There's sand on the floor," Lelouch answered, scraping his foot along the ground, the sound of each grain grating at the concrete grinding in the air.

"Yeah, and? What's that got to do with anything?" Gareth persisted, forcing the boy to reveal his thoughts to us. Say what you will about the smart ass, he knew how to make people spill the beans; most probably just to make him shut up, I thought with a giggle that drew Gareth's attention for the merest of moments.

"Besides the fact that this is a sealed tunnel with no other way to get sand down here, the air is freshest here. So either the tunnel collapsed, which judging by the fact that we aren't knee deep in rubble is pretty slim, or this is the exit," Lelouch answered, his tired voice no longer dripping with the sarcasm I'd heard in the tower; the answer was just said with a drollness befitting mundanity.

Gareth nodded in understanding, the movements gently shaking his whole body. We all sat, waiting, watching the flame as it scoured the blank wall, the depthless violet eyes behind it glistening like black amethysts in the deep. Speaking honestly, they frightened me in a way I couldn't describe. The steps he took brought hisses to his lips, but he steadfastly continued. His movements were growing slower, the flame flicking about sluggishly as the weariness set in. We'd only been sitting for a few minutes before suddenly the boy perked up, the light jumping about as the boy as he scrambled about.

Eventually, the boy turned back to us, his eyes lit up, and not just by the tiny light he held. With renewed energy, the boy beckoned to us to get up, or more specifically, the only physically capable one of us left, "Gareth, can I get your help? I need you to push this."

"Ok?" he complied, the warmth to my side leaving as he tread over to the boy. Lelouch in turn directed Gareth to the point he was needed. As Gareth's familiar face drew into the light, Lelouch turned off the lighter, and what little warmth we held was lost, the cold fingers of darkness creeping into my skin, settling in the bone until the coldness of fear clenched at my heart. Beside me Mariel's breaths drew shallow, her hand skimming the floor until it met mine, shaking a little as it did. I took her hand in mine, gently squeezing to reassure the scared girl. She didn't say anything, but her breaths grew deeper, and the shaking stopped.

Ahead of us, all I heard was the gentle scrape of boots grinding sand beneath their heel, the slap of flesh against stone, and the combined groaning of two men. In the dark, their groans drawled out, and I couldn't help the chuckle that rose through my chest at the noise; I'm certain Gareth wouldn't appreciate just what they sounded like; I wouldn't even know for Lelouch, but I laughed regardless.

The wall suddenly clicked. It was a soft sound, barely audible against the harsh grunts and the scuffle of feet on sand. I perked my head up, the sudden movement immediately paid for in sharp pain through my neck and a rush of hammering blood to my head. A wave of nausea washed over me. And then the wall slid open. A gush of air rushed through the dank tunnel, the stench of mould and still air washed away as the rank of rot, of shit and blood and piss and all manner of filth permeated the air. It strangled me, my sore chest heaving as I fought the bile that rose in my mouth. Tears beaded in my eyes as I tried to quell the rampant retching. Ahead of me, the crack of bone against stone and slap of fleshy palms against stone told me of the plight the men faced, their own gagging as they heaved their empty stomach's up.

"Is everyone ok?" Mariel asked timidly to my side.

"Just- just fine kitten," I managed to stammer between the contractions in my stomach.

I could hardly open my eyes, the stinging of salty tears and the fresh, piercing, dull light creeping into the tunnel actually hurting. As I finally opened them, I was greeted by smiling face of Mariel, who offered me a dainty hand. Taking her hand, the small woman yanked me up with what strength she could muster, her dimly lit face glowing red in exertion, her face scrunched up. She slung my arm around her neck, nearly toppling over as she did, but carrying as much of my weight as she could, helping me to hobble to our accomplices on wobbly feet.

With the door open, a trickle of light illuminated the innards of the wall we'd just opened. Whilst all else about the tunnel was seemingly innocuous, A hidden chamber now lay open for us. It wasn't much to look at, like the rest of the tunnel, though the ground was covered a layer of sand that grew from the steady streams trickling from the holes in the top. A steel ladder was bolted to the wall at the far end, reaching up into the concrete hollow leading to the surface, or so I presumed. It didn't lead far up, just enough to be taller than me. Beside the ladder was an arm, dismembered below the shoulder, just laying in the sand. Looking up, the roof seemed to be partially collapsed, one of the fallen prisoners from the field of dead above us, their body hanging through the barest of gaps, the cracked concrete finally giving in after it's long life.

"Well, I'll be damned if this hasn't been the most convoluted escape i've ever seen," Gareth muttered, equal parts impressed and bemused at the chamber revealed to us

"The Britannian nobility sure do love their theatrics," Lelouch replied drily, his drained monotone hinting to experience; though what such experience was, I could not say; most nobles wouldn't look down upon their lifestyles, would they?

"You can say that one again," Gareth concurred as he walked into the antechamber, no longer caring to question the boy. I motioned for Mariel to follow after him, and she brought us into the chamber, struggling to keep her footing on the deep sand. Lelouch followed behind us, looking up to our exit in disgust.

"It was probably designed like this to deter any who followed behind them." Lelouch explained as he looked about, trying to find something, "Those tunnels probably go on for several kilometres. They're as much a trap as an escape route."

Seeming to find what he was after, he scrambled over the sand to the other side of the room, huffing and puffing as he did. "You may want to hug the walls," He warned between shallow gasps for air. Mariel looked to me with confusion, but obeyed the order nonetheless and hobbled us over to the boy. I looked over to Lelouch, who held the handle to some lever in his hand, trying his mightiest to pull it down, his entire body exerting itself . His face grew red as he struggled, the lever stuck as it was. With a weak chuckle, I reached around Mariel, brushing the boys hand aside. "Let me," I offered with a grin.

The handle was sticky, probably from a buildup of rust, but with a firm yank to make even Gareth proud, the handle gave in. There was a faint clicking heard, like that of a thousand gears turning, and suddenly the room came crashing down. The door to the surface flung open, and sand poured from the roof, flooding the chamber further until the ankle deep pool was now mid way up my calf. The desiccated remains of men and women came crashing down into the sand, the mangled bits soaking the grains in red and browns. The stench grew tenfold, and while the distaste brewed in my mouth, I was appalled that my reaction was only so much. The atrocity, the sheer horror before my eyes deserved so much more, but by this point I lacked any desire to even care; I just wanted to get out of here.

As soon as the sand finished its pour, Gareth climbed up the ladder with skill and ease and through the open hatch, followed by Lelouch, who struggled considerably to even hold onto the rungs. Mariel brought me to the ladder, and the two leant over the edge and pulled me up. Gareth sat back in the sunlight, basking in the open, rotted air amongst the corpses. Lelouch gasped for air, leant back against his backpack, shuddering and grasping his sides. I just sat amongst the lifeless, my head swimming from the burn in my eyes, and the hammering in my skull. Finally Mariel peeked out of the hole, joining us as we sat back in peace.

"Heh, well, we're alive," Gareth finally laughed, breaking our silence. With a gesture to the distance, he beamed to us, "and look, they even left us a truck; how considerate."

We all looked to where he pointed, where the tower that had once loomed in the middle of a field of sand, now sat a burning husk of stone, black smoke still pouring from the small windows, billowing out into an endless column choking the sky. Just ahead of the tower that had nearly led us to our death sat the truck that had carried our foe here, sitting idly amongst the dead like a dozing cat, it's engine purring. Even through his stuggle for air, I could hear a smug, satisfactory grunt from the black haired boy to my side. I couldn't help the forced, dry chuckle the slowly, painfully bubbled through my chest at the realisation; this was as much a part of the sly bastard's plan as the escape from the tower.

He'd planned to kill them all, not to just escape.

"We'll have to wait for the fire and smoke to clear before we can loot them," He remarked as he slowly got to his feet. Mariel joined him, and I soon found myself once again slung across the older gents shoulders as we made our way to the tower.

It wasn't an eventful trip, and nothing was said. None of us had anything to actually say. We all just slogged through the sand and mud and blood and gore, uncaring for that around us except that it was an obstacle that could trip us. Even then, our steps weren't so much careful as just stable, our hearts calloused to any sympathy we may have felt for the disrespect the dead received.

"Found the twelfth one; looks like he choked trying to help his mates," Gareth muttered as we passed the tower by, pointing to a body that obviously didn't belong to any of the other prisoners, clad in proper protective clothing and sporting a weapon strewn across the ground ahead of him.

"We'll take her to rest in the back of the truck," Lelouch suggested, more to Gareth than for any input from me.

"Good idea," He admitted, and the two dragged me around the back of the truck. It looked fairly standard by all means. it was what one would expect from an old troop carrier; Wooden benches, a trunk pressed against the booth for storage.

Handing me over to Mariel, Gareth immediately jumped onto the tray, kneeling down to help me up. Mariel brought me closer, letting Gareth pick me up from under the arms.

"Up you go" Gareth cooed as he steadily lifted me into the tray of the truck -my woozy legs and shaking arms pushing me up despite their complaints- guiding me over to one of the benches lining the side. I slowly lowered myself onto the wooden bench, my sense growing hazy as the numbness my body had succumbed to dissipated. With a slow, deep breath, I tried to steady myself; instead, I was met with a stench that overpowered even the pungent rot in the air; hopped from the back of the truck, and Lelouch jumped on to take his place. The lanky teen immediately dropped the rucksack on his back, and started rummaging through the storage crate

"I'm going to check out the booth," Gareth told the boy, and he grunted in acknowledgement. Gareth made no further comment, hopping into the booth, Mariel following behind him. "Well, looks like we're shit out of luck; fuels out. We must've hit the fuel tank in the firefight."

"Well, we'll rest here for now. Wait for the smoke to clear, gather some equipment, then head out." Lelouch responded, the authority undeniable.

"As you say, satan," The murmur was barely audible, but I hardly need to properly hear him to know he'd said it. The raven haired boy merely grunted, paying no more heed to the other man as he carefully searched through the contents of the chest, smiling as he found something of use, but otherwise keeping a placid expression.

It took me somewhat by surprise when, even through unfocused eyes, the eyelids heavy and weak, I could clearly see a smirk befitting the devil himself as he picked up an object deserving of great reverence. The smirk slowly gave way to laughter, and soon the boy was laughing madly about his find, his purple eyes lit with something that truly terrified me; a spark of genius that only those truly depraved would understand.

"What have you got there?" I carefully slurred, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

As his laughter finally died down, he turned to me, handing me a worn piece of paper, it's edges worn and the sheet browned by undue exposure. Carefully, I unravelled the paper, looking down to it. Bold, black lines marked the frail sheet, and it took me a few moments to focus my vision on to what they actually meant. I was speechless as I finally saw the treasure I held. Before my eyes laid a grid upon which the landscape of our battlefield laid, the locations of hidden weapons caches, depots, watchtowers, and all manner of things great and dangerous lay scrawled before me, marked in red.

"A map," I whispered in disbelief. Our chance at survival just skyrocketed.

XXXxxxXXXxxxXXXxxxXXX

Prisoner Lucas Shen

September 30th, 2015 A.T.B.

Saskatchewan, Area 2

With sore arms and splintered hands, I slowly let myself to the ground, the branch I was hanging from bending under my weight. As my toes found perch on a small, weak branch, I mumbled incoherent curses to the bear that had driven me up here. It had been by a stroke of luck that I'd even managed to get away at all; the branch the bear was using as support had given way, taking the bear with it. But now getting down was a serious problem. Broken and snapped branches lay strewn across the floor far below me, taken down by the falling bear until it hit the ground. Now the ladder of branches I'd used to get up was gone on one side, and the other side was sparse enough to give me trouble getting down, with footholds far enough down that I actually had to drop to reach them. My feet gripped to the bark beneath them as I landed, the branch shuddering and creaking.

I was caught by surprise when the branch made a loud 'snap', my heart caught in my throat as I plummeted to the ground far below. With deft hands, I reached out to the main trunk, my fingernails digging into the bark. The bark bit into my skin, leaving its sharp splinters stuck deep. But I still fell, the leaves rushing past me, the ground drawing closer with every thunderous heartbeat.

I was saved when a thick branch suddenly punched me in the gut. My lungs failed me, the air kicked flat out of them. I choked on the saliva caught in my throat. But my arms acted on instinct, grabbing onto the support for dear life. Curling myself around the wooden lifesaver, I lay for a moment, every breath gasped and shuddered through the ebbing pain in my chest; it definitely didn't hurt enough to be a snapped rib. Tears pricked at my eyes involuntarily. I just took each breath one at a time, clearing my mind of the fact that I still had some ways to go down, or of the beast that had attacked; just breathe in, breathe out, repeat. I envied the bear its ability to just walk away after breaking half the tree on its way down and landing in a heap. Instead, I was wrapped around a wooden bannister, trying not to cry and struggling against my own lungs.

As my breath finally caught up to me, I hoisted my body up to sit on the branch that had saved me from at least a concussion, surveying the ground beneath me. In the light of the rising sun you could still see the place the bear hit the ground, the print of its body sunken into the soft gravel and mud, the crisp, fallen leaves crushed into the mud or blown elsewhere. It had only narrowly missed the stone I'd used to break my cuffs, much to my chagrin. With my breath restored, and my body calmed, I decided continued my journey down, the journey short, with considerably less excitement and bruised ribs.

As I settled myself on solid ground once again, I surveyed my chest. Aside from a brilliant red graze along the front of my chest, it looked to be relatively fine. My hands, elbows, knees and I could only assume feet were also grazed, as well as the long splinters embedded deep in my fingers, prickling with blood. My fingers were dyed black and crusted with browning blood, leftovers from satisfying the itch on the back of my head; a tattoo done poorly I suppose. But no serious damage, so that was a plus. Annoying, but not likely to get in my way.

I was distracted from surveying my hands as something on the ground caught my interest. It was hardly visible at first, the slightest discoloration against the orange, gold and brown hues; blood, and not my own. It was a trail leading straight from the bear's crater. It was heavy flow, coating the leaves in a steady trickle of blood. The beast was a little more worse for wear than I'd thought. It was as a dry, wispy chuckle left my lips that I realized just how thirsty I was. My broken lips desperately craved a drink; appreciating the damage done to my attacker would have to come later.

Chasing a bear was dangerous anyway. There was no way I could overpower such a powerful beast, especially without a weapon of my own; suicidal even then. I'd be better off going after smaller prey to feed myself. Too bad though; I could think of half a dozen good uses for a bear.

It didn't take me long to track down the stream that I'd been dumped close to. Even during the day, the area seemed almost deathly quiet. Plodding along, nursing my sore ribs, I knelt beside the stream, dipping my filthy, bloodied hands into cool water, gasping at the sudden shock to my senses. It felt good and cold, washing the grime from my hands. I rubbed at the split and swollen skin, forcing any dirt I could free from the mild wounds, a shiver of bliss muddled with pain running laps down my back. With hands cleaned, I cupped the water and brought it to my mouth, the rush of cold gushing down my throat quenching my dried insides; I sighed in contentment at the first sip to touch my lips without being shoved down my throat for the better part of a month. I don't know why I'm out here, and frankly, I couldn't much care less; the fresh air was liberating. I thirstily gulped down a few more handfuls of the water, the trickles of spilt water running down my face, along my neck until finally pooling along the hem of the briefs. Their slow paths were torturous, but I reveled in the feeling of freedom that welled in me. Not even the collar around my neck could take away from this moment.

Righting myself from the stream, I looked about again, trying to find if anything might stand out. I can't say what I was expecting to find exactly, but I can certainly say that an old, abandoned metal bathtub probably wasn't the first thing on the list. It was sat along the stream, protected by a rusted out tin roof held up by some branches and held together by mouldy, rotten rope. Next to the tub was a rusted tin bucket, and that was everything. Its very presence confused me, but I shrugged it off; no answers would come from looking on from afar.

Cautiously walking toward it, I found the entire makeshift shack covered in wilting weeds, their roots planted in the soft mud along the bank. They had thick tube like branches, with dozens of white flowers lying flaccid at the ends. Instantly, images from the texts I had to read came to mind, which meant only one thing; these things were very toxic. A name flashed in my head; Cicuta douglasii. A poisonous river weed. The information was pointless. Shrugging the mental surge away, I carefully sidestepped them, trying to avoid contact at all costs. As I stepped past the toxic plants, I examined the little bathing alcove in the middle of nowhere.

Inside, I found nothing but the tin, the bucket, and the bath. I scratched my head in confusion; why was this even here? The jingle of the chain on my wrist reminded me of the shackles still stuck to my wrists. Even with my hands freed, the cuffs acted as a reminder to my status as a prisoner, even more so than the collar strapped about my neck. They would also likely make an audible racket at night; they needed to come off.

The tin acting as the makeshift roof was rusted through in most places, but I could see a long sliver of metal relatively unscathed by weathering. Reaching up, I flexed the metal, prudent to avoid catching my already grazed hands against the sharp tin. It didn't take long to snap it clean off, the edge jagged and bent. It wasn't perfect, but it'd have to do I suppose. With steady fingers, I slowly wedged the tin sheet into the gap between the teeth and the locking mechanism. It took some jiggling, and concentrated effort to avoid the razor sharp points, but I finally got in. Tightening the cuffs by another notch, the blood circulation in my hand cut off and my wrists throbbing against the steel painfully, I jammed the tin in a little further until I heard a click, and then the cuff slackened. Taking it off, I repeated the process for the next one, grinning as the metal hoops fell into the metal tub with a dull clang. I rubbed my raw wrists free of the built up strain, basking in the reprieve from the cold metal.

Rolling the sharp shard of tin in my hand, I considered its edge with the tip of my thumb; the sharp blade grating into the callus. Something so small would be fairly useless as a weapon; but perhaps as a tool?

I turned to leave the shack, the white petals of the wild, tuberous flowers dazzling under the light of early morn. Cicuta douglasii. The name meant nothing to me, but it was there none the less, a vivid image in my head that had no context. Hemlock. I know it's poisonous. Extremely deadly. Enough so to kill large animals, like livestock. Swine. Cattle. Horses.

Even bears.

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Prisoner Lelouch Lamperouge

October 2nd, 2015 A.T.B.

Saskatchewan, Area 2

My breathing came out as a harsh wheeze, my chest aching as I fought to bring more of the sweet, cool air into my body. Spikes drove their way into my shoulders, the straps of my pack digging through the leather jacket and straight into the bruised, swollen flesh beneath. I hissed as I tried adjusting the pack, relieved only briefly by the reprieve, only for the pain to settle in again, fresh and raw against the numbed skin. My knees threatened to give way, unused to the weight i bore, the weak muscles quaking with each uneasy step, fire spewing through them. Gusts of freezing winds whipped through the brush, lashing my exposed chest -or it may as well have been, considering how useless the shirt I wore was- and face until only a prickling numbness was left. My hands were tucked into my armpits, trying desperately to regain their feeling. I'd honestly never felt as miserable and hopeless in a long time; I just want to give up, to sit down and rest.

The sun was perched along the western ridge of the world, ready to slip away at a moments notice and leave us alone in the dark. The forest grew dark under the bloody sky, the silhouettes of the withering branches and wicked spikes of grass haunted our every step. Yet, despite the still night, a night with not even a whisper of wind to accompany our steps, the ruckus of gunfire and the roar of engines whined in the air, calling us to our target.

With shaky hands, I pulled the map from my pocket, unravelling the worn parchment. Having come accustomed to the dim light, I could still make out the black topography of the map, and the red annotations scrawled across it. While the words were fuzzy, their shapes blending with the map in the dark light, I needn't see them to know what I was looking at; I'd read over it far too often to forget the simple notes. We were approaching the position of a hidden supply cache some eight kilometres from the settlement of la Ronge, hidden away on a small trail branching from the dirt path I hesitate to call a road, the trail leading towards another lake. My eyes settled upon the only marking that was different from the rest, a small blue 'x' hovering between Candle Lake and Montreal Lake. All it said was 'drop off', with no indication to what might have been dropped off, but I had an inkling at least; that's where I intend to go.

Honestly though, the map was starting to draw on my flagging will; what had taken us all day to achieve, this long, endless trek, was hardly enough to bring us around the bend of the damned lake we'd been dumped at. At this rate, we were going to be stuck in the middle of nowhere, with next to no food and no shelter. But hey, we had guns, I admitted bitterly. Why the hell wouldn't the soldiers just carry food with them? My stomach was growling at the thought. We'd stopped while the sun hung in the middle of the sky, and munched on some granola bars the soldiers had in their chest on the truck, the oats stale and the raisins dry, and kept going. It had done nothing to quell the ravenous demands of my stomach, but I had yet to collapse. Even the intense nausea the physical activity brought with it was not enough for me to give up that horrible, dry, grainy slab.

The gunfire had yet to cease. It was without doubt that whatever soldiers were garrisoned at the cache were fighting against -or perhaps it would be more apt to call it culling?- a group of prisoners who'd stumbled upon them. What was in question, however, was how the battle had lasted this long.

"Let's rest over there. We'll have a break before checking out this cache," I heard Naishe call out from ahead of me. She pointed to some tree some distance away. It was toppled over, and caught upon a rock. It was innocuous enough, and I doubt anyone would know to look there unless they knew to be looking for us in the area. Nodding to her, we trudged over to our refuge this night.

Naishe took the fore, her concussion earlier this morning seemingly forgotten. Gareth had taken up position behind her, his golden eyes watching her for any sign of relapse. The man was honestly remarkable in his endurance, for not only did he keep a close eye on the hispanic woman, he carried the exhausted body of Mariel on his back, her small frame tucked neatly to him, their bags -tattered and burnt as they were- dragged behind them by a string, constantly threatening to spill their contents. And I lagged to the back, struggling to breath against the straps dragging my shoulders down and in; how pathetic.

I did nothing to stop the long groan of relief I let out as the bag slipped from my shoulders, falling to the floor with an muffled crash, the numbness that had settled into my shoulders suddenly giving way to an immense wave of pleasure; if only it didn't slowly turn to pain with each passing breath. Gareth slowly lowered Mariel to the floor, while Naishe cozied herself up under the tree, her own burnt backpack acting as a pillow. Laying myself against my pack, I just took a moment to collect myself.

And we all sat there, the gunfire and blast of explosives ringing in the air, just breathing, and resting.

"The fighting seems to be dying down," Gareth finally said, his eyes shut as he rested against the trunk of the tree.

"Then we'd best head out; our best chance at getting this cache unharmed is to catch them off-guard." I answered, shuffling myself deeper into the uncomfortable backpack, making myself comfortable.

"Right." Naishe muttered in agreement. I could hear some shuffling, the gentle scrape of fabric against fabric. A few heartbeats passed. Nothing else happened. The gunfire was still ringing. "So, are we actually going to go?" Naishe eventually asked.

"Yeah," I answered, more of a noncommittal grunt than an actual answer though. I would be happy to never have to move again, personally. All the strain and pain and aches that had settled into my muscles and joints while walking were finally evaporating, leaving me with pleasantly painful throb through my entire body.

"Someone's going to have to get up," Mariel mumbled, unmoving from her position atop Gareth.

"Yeah," He agreed, but nothing else.

And so we all sat there, in silence. Not even the breeze stirred, and the patter of bullets grew quiet for just a moment. Yet no one made a move.

"Ok, first person to get up gets the last bar," Naishe suddenly offered, her body shuffling against the pack. Cracking my eyes open just a little, I watched as the woman rummaged through her pack, trying as hard as possible to avoid moving herself. Eventually, she found what it was she was looking for, holding it up for all of us to see; our last granola bar.

I sat there, watching the bar, my body fighting a battle that left me rooted to my place. My stomach roared, demanding I snatch the bar for my own and try and sate the cavernous hunger I felt. Yet another part of me insisted that I should just lay, let my body rest. The aches in my joints and the stiffness in my back cried not to succumb to the temptation of food. With half-lidded eyes, I looked to my competition for the bar, each seeming to be fighting the same battle. Faces struggling to hide the desperate hunger growing inside them, matched only by the rest they so sorely sought.

Gareth seemed the least phased, only the slightest hint of desire flaring in his eyes before dying out as he leant back again, closing his eyes as if it would make the bar, and his hunger, dissipate. He must've been more accustomed to the feeling gnawing at his gut. His accomplice, however, told another story. She made no move, but her pert face was stricken with craving. She was pouting, giving Naishe something akin to puppy dog eyes. Even in the dim light, I could tell Naishe was wavering under the girl's gaze, her will withering with each second. My window of opportunity was closing. I need that dry brick of awfulness.

"Fine," I finally submitted, grumbling as I got back to my feet. Naishe grinned as I caved, tossing me the bar which I barely caught. It only took a few seconds for the slab to disappear; it didn't help the hunger much though. Disappointed, I leant down, my back cracked and I let out a long, hearty groan. I really didn't want to pick up this pack again. I really just wanted to crash for the night. But we couldn't; the cover of night was our best chance at actually raiding the cache without being ripped to shreds by any number of enemy guns.

Along the side of my pack, one of the assault rifles dropped by our attackers in the tower lay, tied on by burnt ribbon. The plastic casing around the outside had been buckled and warped by the chemical fires, but the steel innards remained intact. Unwrapping it from the makeshift straps felt a little like unwrapping a present, except instead of a toy, all that I got was a cruel reminded of the situation I found myself in. Shaking the morbid thoughts from my head, I opened up the backpack. I took several of the magazines lying at the top, sliding one into the weapon -how was it that you did this again?- and several others into the pockets of my coat. I then filled my pockets with the ammo I'd need for the sidearm Naishe insisted I carry. Finally done with the contents of the pack, I hefted the slightly lighter pack onto my back, the straps nuzzling themselves back into the grooves they'd cut into my shoulder, a grimace spreading through my face.

When I looked back up, the others were now back to their feet, all sporting their own weapons. Gareth had taken up an older rifle, semi-automatic and covered in a burnt wooden stock*. The thing was almost ancient; he argued that it wasn't ancient, but 'classic', whatever that means. The only slightly different feature was a fairly modern looking scope that had been attached by whatever means necessary.

Naishe carried an old russian weapon*, a weapon I'd mistake for an old AK-47 had I not the knowledge violently imbued into me by a particular gun enthusiast leading the mass production of such weapons in the japanese ghettoes to differentiate it; as much use as that was for me now. The case was battered and worn by time, and she held it somewhat awkwardly, like she was unused to the weapon in her hands.

Finally was Mariel, who carried some outdated bullpup SMG* of chinese design.

The light was now nearly gone, and we started heading out. The extra rags we all wore to give us warmth also gave us a burnt and unruly look, like we'd just crawled from the pits of hell themselves. Naishe and Gareth both covered their faces, wrapped up in the tattered cloths of those we slew in the tower, the only thing visible being their eyes. They'd even taken to donning some of the body armour left behind; it wasn't anything heavy like the plates our first attacker wore, instead more like kevlar vests and tin helmets. Mariel and I'd abstained from joining in, under the recommendation of the two more experienced members; too much extra weight for us. Hadn't stopped them from loading our packs with the extra stuff. Mariel, on the other hand, carried tins and canteens sloshing with liquid. But in all, as we set out under the flickering blaze of the dying sun, we looked more the part of soldiers than prisoners.

Gareth led us, occasionally checking the ground for tracks or any other sign of thoroughfare. We traversed over rocks and weaved through trees, moving about as quietly as possible. While Gareth led, Naishe directed us through the underbrush, helping us to quieten our steps and avoid the tree debris strewn across the floor. The gunfire had stopped some time ago, but we kept slinking through the woods. Eventually, we came to the edge of a small ridge overlooking the lake where our quarry lay.

The cache was a small, fortified, concrete building that lay by the water's edge. It was rather plain to look at. The walls were crumbled and holes left the innards of the building exposed to the elements. Even with the sun completely hidden now, the place glowed with light. Fires were set up in old barrels and in the centre of the building, three men sat around a bonfire. Another two were left outside, rummaging through the corpses of the prisoners they'd been fighting.

"Ok, so the fighting's over. We got another plan?" Gareth whispered, his sharp eyes watching the scene below us. He was right though; our original plan was not going to work; we no longer had the distraction of the fighting to make our move. The structure itself was fortified, but not heavily defended. There were multiple ways in which you could approach and enter it. But that also meant there was very little cover between here and there. We had plenty of high ground, but I doubt we could take out all of the soldiers from this distance before they got into cover, and then we'd have very little cover against the counterattack.

"I'll take it this time, brain boy," Naishe suddenly whispered to me, startling me from my planning. I had hardly a moment to question her before she turned to Gareth, asking, "That rifle of yours is scoped, right?"

He gave a shrug, answering "Yeah, though I couldn't tell you how accurate it is; I haven't had a chance to properly sight it yet,"

Naishe nodded in understanding, flicking her knowing smirk to him, "I'm sure you'll be fine."

She pointed to a small hill with a rock face a hundred or so metres from our position. "Take up position along that ridge and wait for me," She commanded, and he nodded with a grin.

"Sure thing boss," he grunted as he made off for his destination with barely another sound.

Naishe slung her own weapon on her shoulder as she turned to us.

"Ok, when you see this," She started, bringing her hand up to rub her head, "I want you to start shooting at the baddies in the building, got it?"

Mariel nodded timidly in understanding, and I just shouldered my weapon in understanding. Naishe grinned, winking to us as she praised, "good girls," before slinking away herself.

Shrugging to myself, I laid down onto the ground, bringing the rifle into my shoulder like I'd seen soldiers do. And we waited.

I watched Naishe carefully, trying to figure out her plan. Obviously, Gareth was taking up a sniper's position, but what were Mariel and I supposed to do? I had no shooting experience myself, so I wasn't likely to hit anything. Perhaps she was going to form a pincer movement? No, the area had too much cover for what limited firepower we had.

She was already halfway to the structure, and had yet to take any cover to sneak in. In fact, she was just sauntering out in the open.

"What is she doing?" I asked more to myself than anything. She passed into the threshold of light. The guards could see her now. Yet she made no move to hide.

"Is the seriously just waltzing up to the soldiers?" I finally seethed; what the hell was she doing? Getting herself killed?

"It looks like it," Mariel muttered in response, not too phased by it.

A soldier finally spotted her. One of the ones inside the building. This was over now. She held her hands up in surrender. They were going to gun her down. She was now surrounded by all five of them.

Except they didn't. They lowered their weapons. In the silent night, it wasn't gunfire I heard, but speech too low and muffled to understand. We waited for a moment. The soldiers had their weapons trained on her. She held her hands up. and the talking continued.

And then they lowered their weapons. There was slight laughter on the wind. She lowered her hands. The two scavengers were yelled at, and they went back to work. The other three escorted her inside.

And that was when I realised it. She blended in with the soldiers. The scraps we wore and the torn up armor gave her leeway to pretend she was one of them. This was how she guaranteed they had no cover. And that meant that we were-

It was difficult to tell exactly what it was that she was doing inside. Even through the holes, the movement of bodies and the flicker of flame was almost enough to obscure her actions. But when she sat on the chair inside and brought her hand to rub her temple, we knew. It was almost intuitive.

For the first time in my life, I flicked of the safety catch on the rifle, and settled my finger against the trigger. I tried to line up the iron sight on what little body of one of the soldiers I could see. And I pulled on the trigger. It startled me as the weapon jumped in my hand, and the stock kicked my shoulders with a force akin to a hefty punch. I nearly dropped the weapon in surprise and pain, but my finger remain glued to the trigger. Punch after punch slammed into my shoulder, and my body rattled with each hit. Every bullet I fired streaked over the open ground below, before digging into the concrete of the building in a very wide cone. The air was filled with smoke that smelt of burning, and the muzzle flash was blinding. My ears rung for the roar of the bullets. Tears welled in my eyes as I finally let go of the trigger and the weapon stopped bouncing. Mariel's torrent of fire was much the same as mine, though she looked more shaken than hurt as I felt.

Below, the soldiers jumped into position, screaming orders that hung in the air, nonsensical to my ringing ears, but audible. Naishe too acted surprised, jumping from her chair, pointing to where we actually sat, shouting. My heart plummeted as the thought of her selling us out popped to mind.

Those thoughts were laid to rest, however, when with a speed I'd never seen before, her hand jumped from her waist, pistol in hand, and the closest two soldiers dropped the ground with a splash of blood spraying in the air from their heads. The third one, realising her true nature, turned his own weapon upon Naishe, but was cut off when a clipped bang echoed through the night. His chest blasted open, and he slumped to the ground.

The final two soldiers had finally perked up, unsure where to point their weapons -either at the foe inside their base or the ones outside. Their uncertainty cost them, as Naishe laid down a stream of fire from her assault rifle that caught one of them in the leg, while the other was cut down by another shot from Gareth. The one unlucky enough to be caught in the leg cried out in pain, clutching the wound as he rolled on the floor. The screams curdled my blood, and froze me in my place. His screaming didn't cease after a few moments, and another shot from Gareth finally ended his suffering with nought but a gurgle.

With an exerted effort, I pushed myself from the ground. That plan had gone smoothly enough, and now we had access to the resources we needed. Looking about, I tried to find any other sign of enemy. I leant down and helped Mariel up, brushing off some of the dried grass that stuck to her.

"That looks like all of the-" I started, cut off by the sound of heavy machinegun fire that rippled through the night. Two shots from Gareth's rifle sounded, but they were strangled out by the stream of continuous fire. Looking to the ridge where Gareth had taken up position, he stood there, hiding behind a tree as the bark was shredded around him.

He suddenly flung himself to the side, his rifle discarded, his body tumbling down the hill. A split second later, the tree he'd hid behind was lit up by an explosion, the trunk shredded by the ordnance.

"Gareth!" Mariel cried as he tumbled further down the hill.

The tree burned in the night and Gareth lay at the bottom of the rock face, unmoving. At the top now stood a giant of a man, lit only by the fire to his side. He wore heavy, plated armour, and a thick kevlar underneath. In his hand was a weapon the likes of which I'd never seen. A huge, heavy LMG with a chain that hung from the weapon and trailed all the way onto the huge pack on his back. His face was covered by a helmet with a long glass visor; faceless, nameless. A monster that emerged from the deep darkness.

And he turned his cannon of a weapon onto the structure where Naishe sat, letting loose a torrent of fire so strong it tore away the concrete with a shriek that shook my bones.

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September 21, 2015

Jeremiah Gottwald, Margrave

Office 39, Tokyo Settlement Headquarters

Tokyo Settlement, Area 11

Dear sir,

Sub: Transfer of Military Posting (R)IMI-89 [Tokyo Settlement] to (S)JRL-293 [Henry VIII Penitentiary (II)]- DECLINED

Your request to change posting from Royal Imperial Mechanised Infantry Brigade 89 (Hitherto known as the Purist Faction) to the Security Detachment, Judicidal Rehabilitation Legion 293 has been declined. You are to remain in your position as commanding officer of the Purist Faction until further notice.

Further requests for transfer will be met with appropriate disciplinary action, including but not limited to demotion, suspension, dishonourable discharge, revocation of titles, imprisonment, or even execution. Please keep this in mind before submitting further inane transfer requests.

By the Emperor's Will,

Brigadier General Ferris Pierce, Duke to the Province of Area 3

Office 68-B, Imperial Armed Forces Command Centre,

152 Lord Darwin Avenue, Palace Hill, 83219

Pendragon, Britannia

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*K- Honestly don't know about everywhere else, but at least in Australia this is fairly common slang meaning kilometre.

*All guns are of different make, however they bare resemblance to those of our actual world. So, to make it easy, I'll just say what weapon each is based off.

Gareth carries an old M1 Garand from WW2 with a fairly modern ACOG that's been bolted on top, slightly askew so as not to stop loading.

Naishe carries a russian AKM, though she doesn't really use it. The pistol she uses is a Steyr M9.

Mariel carries a chinese QCW-05

Lelouch was given an original M16 (which they used in the battle at the tower).

Also, to all those who might come to me nitpicking about the fact that they're using gas operated weapons, just remember this; you're choosing to bring that up over the fact that an entire state full of prairies was converted into a gladiatorial arena. Just calm down. It's AU. And, in the scheme of things, it's a fairly minor change. What does it really change, huh?

So, by the power vested in me by my holy ego, I declare this world to have guns, because its always nice to have a very clear inferior weapon type to play with!

So, here's another chapter. Yay.

I imagine some of you may have some questions. The first would probably be, where did Lelouch learn to hotwire the locks? Well, the answer is fairly simple; he left the key in his secret alcove in the bathroom, and had to learn to open the door without it. Or perhaps he had to break into the dormitories one time to sneak a gift to Nunnally. Or even yet, he had to hotwire Rivalz bike one time, loved it so much that he taught himself how to do it with all means of electrical items. Or whatever you want to believe. Have free reign of how you believe he learnt to do so. The point is, he does know how to crack relatively simple electronic military locks without tools, and some more advanced ones with some tools.

After that is probably Shen's understanding of the poisonous weed. Well, simple; he was taught, and he learnt. It's a bit of a spoiler to reveal how he knows what it is, but just accept for now that he remembers the weeds from his lesson.

Also, this might sound a bit arrogant, but I was wondering just how many of my rather small following are artists? See, I'm trying to teach myself to draw, but in all honesty, I'm rubbish. I just wanted to know who actually had that talent amongst you. Flick me a PM so I can see some of your work for myself!