Fate:Nightmare Apatheia

by Heavy Valor

The forefather of Britannia made a contract with the World. A forsaken Prince, a contract with an Immortal. A Hero, a contract with a Servant. This is the story of these eternal bonds, the victories and failures of their promises. ShirouXSaber, LelouchXCC

19. Interlude 1: Sleepless: Part 3

Interlude 1: Sleepless Part 3

12 August 2017 a.t.b., 0340 hours

Toshima, Area 11

---

It was blindingly dark in the second floor. It was supposed to be dawn soon, but for now, Mackenzie King would have to operate under night conditions.

The darkness suited the Glasgow more than her Halifax. Her GAU-8 Avenger Gatling cannon was still spooling quietly, but if she was attacked from behind, she would only have two seconds to respond. It was a show of good faith that she still approached.

She clicked her mike on. "Knight Police! I am-"

The rushing of wind, tinny as it was, stopped her. She fired her landspinners with a burst from her capacitors, turning 90 degrees in a half-second.

The G-forces caused her to clench her jaw, but it was easier to handle than the F-22 she was for more accustomed to piloting.

Charging towards her was the Knight Police Glasgow in her floodlights, knife held at ready and pistol-

Her display sparked. The small-caliber bullets couldn't dent her armor, but each shot was aimed at her head.

Her HUD registered low damage to her sensors.

"This is bullshit." This man could be a friendly. She angled her cannon a degree lower.

The grinding roar accompanied the raging tongue of fire, fifty depleted uranium API rounds chewing through the concrete easily.

The floor became shards, and for a moment, the Glasgow was trapped by its own momentum in its road to perdition.

Except-

Gravity apparently stopped working, because that Glasgow flew over the gap-

Right, it's a Knight Police variant. It doesn't weigh ten tons.

King flicked the acceleration, driving her own ten tons away from the oncoming frame. The small mass blade in her Halifax's right arm primed itself, and she put forward her left to shield her frame-

The shrieking of high-carbon martensitic steel on the ceramic plate casing of her M-61 Vulcan relieved her. It was a superficial cut. She twisted back again, her HUD blurring as she expended another capacitor charge to the accelerators-

In that moment, she caught a glimpse of the knife being swept back upwards.

Her head was forced into her seat as the Glasgow landed on top of her knighmare.

Involuntarily, she brought her Halifax's head up, staring at the overhead, reverse-gripped blade clenched in both hands of the Glasgow.

It came down hard.

Her HUD cracked. Half of the display vanished.

She killed the audio feed before the feedback could hit.

Bastard. The damned luck to actually hit me with a knife, of all things.

Still …

The KP Glasgow was outstretched over the Halifax, its body lying on top of the elongated gun nacelle. Both of its hands were wrapped around the blade, trying to withdraw it from the sensory station.

Its lower body was directly over the Halifax's cannon.

She flicked the fire control for a second.

White filled the bottom of the enemy frame, and the comforting roar filled her cockpit.

The API rounds, at close range, were barely impeded by their obstacle. They made the torso fold, the legs shatter, and the Glasgow three tons lighter.

The sudden pressure and superheated air knocked the blue and white frame to the side, its left arm fragmenting under the tension.

The sound must have been deafening for the pilot of the Glasgow.

---

"-Rrragh!"

Gavriel couldn't see anything from that burse of light, and his hearing was likely shot. The vibrations were all he could feel. His Glasgow was being tossed around like a ragdoll.

Without its left arm, he had to release his right arm's grip on the blade. He felt the pressure on his head decrease as he fell, but the impact came too quickly-

"-Tssssh." He exhaled through gritted teeth. Fucking monster. He thought that knife would've ended it all right there.

But it was his frame that was on the ground, without legs or an arm.

His vision returned.

He looked up through his HUD to see the chest-mounted Gatling cannon's business ends pointed in his direction. Behind and above it, he noticed the sparks from the stocky frame's head. His knife stuck out like- well, how else would a knife stick out of someone's head?

Ridiculous as he found the situation and the design, he had little say in the matter. The Japanese built a frame that took down his squad outnumbered two to one. That, he had to admire a little bit.

A tinny noise caught his ear. Turned out something was coming back.

"Stand-"

He didn't catch that last bit. He toggled the safety off of the Slash Harkens.

"I rep- Stan- Down."

The metallic voice was filtered through his wounded ears like a buzz. He methodically aimed, angling his Harkens at the angular knightmare.

Fuck you.

"This is your la- warning, Offic- Gavriel -itfield of the -night Police. Stand down."

No, seriously, fuck you.

He pushed down, the sharp crack of the compressed gases sending the flat, bladed spades flying.

The Japanese frame made the worst move. It charged forward into the momentum.

Got you, squint-

The twin whining shrieks weren't welcome to Gavriel Whitfield's ears for two reasons. The first was the pain it caused his ears, which had just recovered their function. The second was the simple indication of two ineffective hits. Glancing blows, no better than if some punk keyed a paint scar into the hide of the metal.

The armor of the gun nacelle was sharply angled about the gun. That, Gavriel realized, was the entire point of this knightmare. It was made to engage headlong and resist frontal assaults. He just made the mistake of engaging it in a frontal assault.

Whitfield thought time could crawl. It did when he was a few hundred yards from a target when he pulled the trigger.

He thought he could see the enemy's arm move forward.

There was another burst of sound, a metal hammer ringing out against his cockpit. The feed on his HUD cut.

I'd never thought it would end like this. Trapped in a metal coffin. El Santo Furioso dead in a steel cube. Like a match snuffed out in a tinderbox.

Well, as long as I'm alive, I'll see if I can die in the open air.

Gavriel popped the hatch and grabbed his rifle, a M98/30 Mozin-Nagant. It was the Dragoon variant, a usefully short sized type for the slightly antiquated rifle. He had to pay some good money for that gun from the EU. If anything, it was a comfort to have it, though it wouldn't do much good. He spun to face the target.

"Alright, there. I'll be happy to be killed now-"

The mystery knightmare had already passed the last corner, and he heard it speed down the ramp.

It spared him. Somehow, that pilot decided to leave him alone.

"Well, shit."

---

Mackenzie flexed her grip over and over on the joysticks. Each breath she drew was stale, warm.

It was nothing like the cold air up there, at combat altitude. 15000 feet was more welcome than this groundbound crap.

She pulled her blonde hair back into a ponytail. Immediately, she let it down. She went through the motions, running her fingers through the strands, pulling it up, letting it down.

Finally, it felt right. It felt like nothing was trapping her head in the cockpit. She tied it up, every strand in place.

She had lunged with the bulk of her frame, firing off a pneumatic charge to propel the mass blade deep into the neck of the Knight Police Glasgow.

She had felt the keening whine of her controls, the snapping shudders when the tendons and wires ripped in Whitfield's head.

It was nothing like being in a jet. Nothing at all. You don't feel your kill as intimately as that.

Nothing at all. I'm glad Officer Whitfield's alive. In a dogfight, you don't really have any say whether you kill the man on the other side or not.

That doesn't change how much I hate getting up close and personal like that. Fucking knightmares. Fucking sakuradite.

That was the extent the colonel let herself go with her thoughts. She returned to the mission as soon as she reached the end of the ramp.

"Kewell. I left him alive. We can't waste any more time here."

"Clovis is pretty pissed, Mackenzie. I think we should leave."

"I came too far for this. I'm not about to abandon my duty because Clovis expects the Purists to bend to his will for something this important."

Kewell frowned. "I still don't get why you volunteered for Brant's mission. Is it really-"

"Don't question your superior officer. It's unseemly." The harsh intonation was surprising. Kewell never heard the colonel this zoned.

"… You alright?"

"Fuckall, I just want this thing done." Mackenzie sighed. "Sorry. You get contact with Whitfield's cap?"

"I've established contact with KP's commanding officer, but as soon as we straightened things out, the line was cut. I definitely suggest getting the hell out of here, colonel."

"That means we're getting close. The hacker had to have blown our opsec. If she's expecting guests already, then she has more to throw at us than misinformed KPs."

Jeremiah swerved over. He was listening in, and he definitely didn't like what Mackenzie was leading to.

"The army is just a click away, Mackenzie. Are you sure you don't want to walk away from this?" Jeremiah was wary. He had seen this wild side of the colonel before, and it wasn't pretty. Never really was. What loose cannon was? "You can just bombard this hacker with a command to 1st Wing."

"Margrave, why did she send the Knight Police after us?" The question was hissed through gritted teeth.

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"She's using them. This wasn't friendly fire, this was her feeding them bad intel. They genuinely thought we were the enemy. So why them?" She pulled up the tactical map on their screens.

"Why not the ten tanks from 5th Armored patrolling to the east, the three mechanized infantry squads on the highway blockade, and the five Army Sutherlands in the apartment complexes? Toshima's a hotspot ghetto. That's why she chose it." She punctuated her next sentence by pressing against the IFFs hard.

"These guys, they're actually her friends. She could tell them anything and they'd listen, because she's as good as Brant says. She hid in plain sight, and she could have used any of those guys to slow us down. Then why use the KPs from a district away?"

"You mean-"

"She called us out. How'd she know the force chasing her was fully composed of knightmares? If she could fake commands, why send a specialized anti-Knightmare force? Made up of knight-caliber pilots? Why not delay us from even entering the ghetto?"

And Kewell figured out why Mackenzie King was so pissed. She looked right at their HUDs.

"She knew who was after her, and instead of trying to tie us up, she tried to kill us. She's targeting knights."

The colonel, finished with her explanation, turned her attention to her troops. "You hear that, boys? This Britannian hacker wants to kill us! What do you have to say to that?"

A roar of furious denial followed. Hell, no.

"This isn't a mission. It isn't even personal anymore. This is treason against blood! Against Purity!"

Mackenzie was angry. Her father was no big fan of Purist politics, but she knew the values and the doctrine. They worked, and they built brotherhoods beyond blood, by blood. She would wade into fire, steel, and blood to uphold Purity.

Except there was a little beeping on her comms that kept her from doing so immediately.

"This damn well be important, Colonel King reporting-"

"Nice speech, Mackenzie. It's pretty important."

She raised an eyebrow. It was Brant, of all people. "We're almost there, and we're raring to go. What's your sitrep?"

"Not good. Clovis is on the rampage, and I'm going to have to ask a favor that'll make your life a hell of a lot harder."

"What is it, Brant?"

"Capture her alive. I'll need her as evidence."

She exhaled in a hiss. "Going to be hard. I want her dead."

"I heard. Told you it'd make your life harder."

"Shit, Brant-"

They both paused at the same time. A distinct 'Ahem, ahem' was coming from all the channels.

---

Bartley rubbed his forehead and smiled.

The leg Cornelia had shot twinged, but he couldn't have his satisfaction be dulled by a little bullet like that. "My Prince, what do you think?"

Ten minutes ago …

"I will not be upstaged by Brant in my own Area! My Prince refuses to bow to this upstart OSI lackey, and I refuse to as well!"

"Sir, yes sir!"

"Even if the Purists had the wool pulled over their eyes, I, General-Commandant Asprius Bartley, will stand fast by my Prince!"

"Sir, yes sir! We stand by the Prince as well, sir!"

"The idea that he was swindled by a 'hacker' of some sorts is preposterous! He handles Area Eleven's security with the utmost care!" Though, there is that time he left his phone with Wilhelm … with those lotions and creams and oils, and Emperor knows doing what with Wilhelm in that room- "Perish the thought!"

"Indeed, perish the thought, sir!"

"Yes, yes! Perish it. Now, Brant may be an upstart one, but he's smart, I'll give him that. Supposing there is a hacker who knows about this Grail business, silly as it is, he should be captured and interrogated, even killed! Not hounded by our Purist forces, certainly not a task for them. Perhaps for our regulars?"

"Permission to speak freely, sir!"

"Given, Lieutenant Walles."

"Preferably not, sir. We regulars don't cherish the thought of hunting in a ghetto."

"Mmm, point taken, Walles. Good man. Yes, very good. Why waste our men? Certainly better than the task needs. And an aside, Walles, we do use a prodigious amount of computer technology, graced by our Prince's generosity, correct?"

"Yes, sir!"

"So a hacker would be prone to using our technology, well-defended as it is, in some sort of way to defend himself. Perhaps this hacker might be able to use our men, perhaps not. But why should we provide him with the opportunity at all? Why not send forces that don't have access to this technology at all?"

"Why not indeed, sir! Sir, a query, sir!"

"Speak, Walles."

"What forces don't have any access to technology, sir?"

Bartley spun his portly self around, his monocle glinting. "Why not the Elevens, Walles?"

Walles blinked. "Incentive, sir?"

"What else but their lives?" He clapped the soldier on the shoulder. "Thank you, Walles. You have been invaluable in assisting a general formulate a battle plan."

"A pleasure, sir. I was just a sounding board for your tactique."

"Even so, it is much appreciated." And with as much dignity Bartley's enthusiasm could muster, the general ran to the command room.

And now here he was, awaiting his prince's response.

"Use the subjects of this Area? Why would they be reliable at all, Bartley?

"Toshima has always been in a state of disrepair, my Prince. We can give the Elevens two options. Fail to deliver the hacker and be leveled with the ghetto, or bring this Oceane to justice, alive and well, and be rewarded with habitation in one of our new development projects. If they fail anyways, we can simply tighten the contain and converge upon this hacker."

"The carrot and the stick, Bartley? This is a very good idea. And I suppose I'll be giving the announcement?"

"Sire, if you feel it is beneath you-"

"No, no, certainly not. This strategy merits my participation." Clovis, disheveled, tired, weary, finally broke a smile. "Thank you, Bartley. I'll remember this stroke of brilliance."

Bartley suppressed it, but a spark of joy at seeing his Prince finally happy leapt in his heart. "Yes, milord!"

---

Upload: Complete: 50%

Estimated time to completion: 75 minutes

---

"There's not enough time. I'm so sorry, Pacific." She patted her computer sadly. With almost all her tech removed, Pacific was a lonely tower of hardware. In the subbasement of a derelict apartment, it looked as sad as its environment.

Bing.

The blips on her map were converging on her position. Oceane had her truck ready, but moving her cyberlair into a large box was not a task to be done in 20 minutes. Being scrawny didn't help, either.

Time to issue orders and leave them stuck with them. She spoke into her headset.

"All forces, this is Director Brant. Communications will be disabled indefinitely following these orders-"

Kszzzhhhzhz.

---

IP 324e048631- to do so is to stop Brant's target from using Brant

Stop her- save lives- a premonition of violated secrets- EU mobilizing, Chinese giant stirring, the Pope's Edicts.

Block route- trace worm- stop code signatures

Plip, plop.

It felt like my brain was scooped out of my skull and into a tank, one of those clear glass things in the movies, you know, the ones where the brains stare at you mouldering in formaldehyde-

Oh, I can stop the end.

I can stop the Church and the Association from going to war.

I can stop the European Union and the Chinese Federation from barreling into a war with Britannia by hiding this.

People just get mad at me, laugh at me. Brant doesn't laugh at me.

Nearly two miles away, Seo Shizune shut off the hidden channel that Oceane's worm in Clovis'- Wilhelm's, technically- phone created.

"Gotcha!"

She smiled.

But she stared in surprise at the screen of her computer. Just as she stopped the worm-thing, a message was being broadcast, right from Clovis' room.

"Did I miss-"

"Ahem, ahem."

---

Bartley nodded at the sight of Brant's confused agent on the screen. If anything, Brant was consistent with the quality of the agents he recruited.

"Brant's men stopped the worm. The screens are deployed. My prince, you are ready to go live."

"Ahem, ahem. Yes, thank you." Clovis smoothed out his collar one last time. He directed his gaze straight into the cameras.

"All subjects of Holy Britannia in Toshima, hear me! I, Clovis la Britannia, do hereby make this decree! All inhabitants of Toshima who assist me in the task I will give you will be made into Honorary Britannians! Furthermore, the inhabitants who play significant roles in this task will be relocated to the new development projects in Fuyuki!"

He let that sink in for a moment. He watched the ghetto stir.

5,000 inhabitants rose to attention. They stared at his face on the vast screens arranged around the borders, the speaker towers casting echoes throughout.

"A traitor to the empire has been found in the ghetto, by the name of Oceane Coupe! Originally a Britannian, she has stolen a vast amount of computer technology and attempted to turn it against Britannia!"

A picture was displayed on the screens. A pale-faced brunette, with choppy hair, lean features, and incredibly thick glasses was portrayed.

"She has failed. There is no opportunity to escape for her! We have encircled Toshima completely! In our capability, however, we are offering an opportunity. We wish to avoid any harm caused to you by our engagement with this culprit! Assist us, and a life beyond your own now is yours! Resist-" He gestured widely, to his knightmares at attention. "-and we will be forced to enter Toshima."

Clovis appeared once more, next to a pair of Japanese children. They were shivering and bloodied.

"Please, I beg you. These children, almost killed by Coupe, beg you. Stop Coupe, by any means. Bring her, or her body, to us-" and the camera panned right, to the view of Fuyuki's west side, of the glass and steel development- "Bring her to us, and this is yours. All Hail Britannia."

---

For once, Kayeri Brant was genuinely surprised. Not by the plan, he had dreamt that up at the very start of the op. No, it was the actual intelligence demonstrated by Clovis, that the prince was able to think up of something actually effective.

But Brant rejected it for its complete lack of virtue. He chose the Purists for a reason, and not for their tendency to put arsenic in his mints. The Purists- and Mackenzie- were consistent with results, and a lack of collateral damage beyond their typical drivel on blood and the vindictive fury that accompanied it. That made his choice easy when requesting their assistance.

Sending in infantry or a standard exfil team would have been bad, too much of the population would have attempted to interfere with the all-too-human operatives. And throwing an entire ghetto at a hacker was divisive, unsettling, and of no place in winning the hearts and minds of the indigenous people.

"Hmph." Why did Lloyd Harkin's misplaced idealism- and pragmatism- come to mind right now? 'Target down'- You don't expend civilians to do that. They were the enemy before, and that could justify- as weak as a justification could be- their deaths in a field of combat. But using them as your tools? That was cruelty, pure and simple.

"Brant? Don't tell me we're going to let the Elevens take care of this."

"Nope, that's not my style- or yours, I think." Kayeri looked meaningfully at Noble and Barnes. "We'll get three choppers over there. I've had the QRs on alert since you've started my mission."

"Pfft. Always the groundpounders who do the tough stuff, because we're tough enough." But Mackenzie said this with a note of tired irony. "I lost two men, KPs lost eight. Damn well better be worth it."

"… I won't apologize, not yet. Oblige me to sit tight for now."

"Wilco. Check six."

Brant gave an uncharacteristically cheeky wink. "ETA three minutes, Brant out."

---

"[Mom? Are you going downstairs? Don't listen to Clovis, please. She never did-]"

She hiccupped.

"Shh. [It's fine, Yoko-chan.]"

A knife from the kitchen. That was the weary mother's choice.

It would be quick, and if she wasn't able to subdue Coupe-san, her two young sons would. Ah, but if only she could awaken her husband, drunk on the couch after a long night's work.

How nice it would be, if they were able to live in the apartment that he was building in Fuyuki.

And maybe they could sell those computers in the truck that Coupe-san was loading. Maybe that would be enough to send her oldest daughter to a better high school, or maybe even college.

Better than the boy she was dating.

Better than the nights her daughter came back disheveled and bruised-

All of this was a sick farce. She knew it was sick.

But the hope Clovis gave- it was too much to bear, too much to give up.

"[Mom?]"

"[It's nothing. Come, let's go get Coupe-san from the basement.]"

They nodded solemnly, trusting their mother. The two teenage sons rubbed their hands on the brooms their mom gave them.

With that, the mother crept downstairs, followed by her sons.

---

Oceane tried her best to slow her breathing under the table. She was hidden under the wires of Pacific's setup, multicolored strands of gaudy distraction. Her host- she had forgot her host's name even after living there for six months- was at the base of the stairs.

"Coupe-san?"

She was so close, too. Everything was packed. She was just about to get into the truck and follow the rest of Kingfish's plan, detonating the daemons she planted in her last dive to completely fry their infrastructure. But this new predicament was something she couldn't counter. She couldn't hack human beans, not yet.

Somehow, she still was calm. She knew that she would panic soon. Well, at least I know that I'm calm. If I were panicking, I wouldn't be able to tell if I was panicking.

The desperation didn't hit her yet. Maybe she was still entranced by the former likelihood of her escape. She still remembered the glee at watching the Purists clash with the Knight Police.

I did more than lulzsec could ever do.

She took pride in the chaos she wrought.

Satisfying, but that didn't change the fact that her options were quite limited.

She couldn't run. She couldn't physically run without heaving and wheezing in pain. Last thing she needed was an asthma attack.

Same thing for fighting her way out, she was no Jack Bauer. All she had on her was a little multitool and two energy drinks. Not exactly combat material there.

Talking her way out was … pretty much a forlorn hope. She only knew broken Japanese, and even if she could communicate with her host, Oceane was sure that being socially challenged wouldn't make her any friends.

Fat chance of making any friends with a few murderous Elevens-

No, that wasn't fair. The ghetto was no place to raise children.

"Come, Coupe-san. Talk, please?"

It was only a matter of time before they found her. They had already checked the closets, so she would have to wait until they came closer-

A little light blinked on her phone.

Compulsively, she checked it.

Kingfish00: Are you stuck?

… What the hell, why not. I'm out of ideas.

DeepAtlantic: might be the end here

DeepAtlantic: got three frogs and I'm stuck hiding behind my comp

Kingfish00: What do you have? Weapons?

DeepAtlantic: Just two Crimson Bulls

Kingfish00: Are you near a socket?

That she was, and the secondary power cable was still connected to it, lying limply on the floor after being removed from C and Atlantic. She grabbed it.

Two pairs of bare feet were just in front of Pacific's wires. The odds were high that they were the sons of her host, taking a closer look at her computer.

Cautiously, almost curiously, Oceane leaned forward. She was glad that she cut her hair short, it would have been impossible to see in the dark. Only the pale, illuminating glow of her computer shone on her targets.

The bottle she opened poured out onto the floor, flowing outwards. She had seconds before the drink touched the two boys' feet.

Here it goes.

The female end of the power cable was carefully put into her other opened bottle, and she hurriedly rolled it forward.

The hopefully non-lethal combination touched the pool at the exact moment their bare toes were enveloped.

"Eh-?"

The closer son reacted first, freezing up and stuttering through clenched teeth. A smoking char began to rise from his soles, and he fell forwards into the now red-tinted puddle. More of his skin began to sear, blackened discolorations forming all about him as he writhed on the ground in spasms. The muscle contractions increased in frequency, until he was as stiff as a board.

The second son was knocked back, slipping on the wet floor. He began jittering as well, with a "buh-buh-buh" rattling out of his mouth. Blood began splattering up from his mouth, and a red-pink thing jumped out- his tongue, he had bitten it off. His foot jumped up from the water, saving him any further distress, but he still was clenched in a fetal position, unable to do anything but stutter and shiver uncontrollably.

The mother stared. Her first son was still moving in the water, smoke rising from his body. Her second was also on the ground, shaking without ceasing.

"[No- no, no, no- nooo-]" She ran forward, grasping her charred son, trying to stop him from becoming something like meat-

Her knee, as she knelt, touched the water.

This time, Oceane had to turn away.

How did this happen? I didn't- I didn't mean to kill them. Oh, God. What did I do?

I have to leave.

She got up from her hiding place and ran.

Why did it kill them?

The electricians had altered the circuit breaker when she paid the bribe for the electric company's provision of power to the home. When she had fired her computers up, the allotted consumption increased. Even though C and Atlantic weren't connected anymore, the power was still being provided.

So she just shoved enough current to stop an elephant into the family.

That's why?

I'm a murderer because of that?

Those thoughts kept spinning in her head as she ran up out of the basement, through the hallway, and out onto the street. She could see her truck just a few meters away-

But she ran straight into a gang of five Elevens.

"[Hey, aren't you-]"

"-What?" She dove underneath their outstretched hands-

A tightness in her chest froze her movements. She struggled to push her left leg forward, but the burning began, and she gasped like a fish out of water-

Their hands pulled her back, and she gave up, trying to draw breath from a stale ocean of air.

---

"She's down."

The white-haired girl lowered her binoculars, her two servants silently perched above her.

The blue dots were surrounding the orange color, dragging it- her- into the center.

She narrowed her eyes, as if she could do something about it. Instead of doing so, she raised her hand to her headset. "What?"

The voice was tinny, but still familiarly evocative, of cigarettes and a mechanical chill, of the result above all else. "Extract her without killing them. You're capable of that."

"If I don't want to?"

"It's a waste of ammunition. They have no business dying, either."

"Stingy."

But she complied, releasing her clutch on her pistol grip.

"It's not about how much it costs."

She didn't reply, but burst forwards, leaping out from the demolished apartment's remnant pillar.

"You two, stay here."

Her khayal al-zill gave no recognition save for a hoarse chuckle.

---

"What the actual fuck, Captain?" Whitfield growled at his captain on the radio.

Vance's heavy reply was almost indecipherable in the rising commotion of the roused Elevens. "Whitfield, please- listen. It's your duty. Clovis specifically asked me to use any assets to take down Oceane. The squad's gone. I don't want to add your name to the list."

"No can do. I'm not going to shook at kid."

"Look here, I can't protect you-"

"Then don't." He sighed as he turned the corner and pulled the scope closer. "I guess you're not too happy that I'm not shooting the girl who probably started this mess, right?"

"Damn straight, Whitfield. That's why I contacted the prince's forces when- when you guys encountered those Purists. I knew something was up."

"Sorry, cap. I-" And Gavriel Whitfield gasped.

He felt a chill in his intuition. A black mass in the distance was running, on the roofs of the old concrete structures, flying over impossible distances. The shadows in the night- they were moving towards the derelict apartment-

"What the hell is that?"

---

"[Did Clovis say alive?]"

"[Man, she's out. There's no need to hurt her, she looks sick.]"

Oceane wheezed. She was surrounded, just next to her truck, her only opportunity of escape.

Great. So damn close.

Did I expect it to end any other way?

The dark morning sky was still black, a collapsing screen. There was nothing else Oceane could do but stare.

"[Let's take her away. We'll get the reward.]"

"[Wait, what do you mean? We found her. You guys just came here!]"

"[What are you talking about? It's not like you did much, she was already collapsing!]"

"[Shut up!]"

The agitation in the Japanese language was distinct, punctuated by a punch.

"[Fuck off!]"

The two men that Oceane could see from the corner of her eye were at it, their friends rolling up their sleeves and joining in. If she could move, she would have taken the opportunity to run.

All she could do was stare and cough, into the night sky, clouds of smog and wisps passing, a clear patch of night lazily revealed with a single star blinking-

Somehow, Oceane imagined that star to be a skull.

Ah, death. Imminent, and ironic. Maybe I shouldn't have listened to Kingfish.

Huh?

The star- it was getting bigger, and there was no mistaking it even with her oversized, thick glasses.

It was a skull, and it was approaching alarmingly fast.

Before the thought could register in her mind-

A wave of black murkiness drew fast, ebbing high to engulf the ghetto block. Shadows descended onto the crowd, their weight pressing heavily on their aggression.

"[Eh?]"

True to the natural instinct, the crowd turned to address this conscious, oppressive force, the figure that the shadows were emanating from.

And, almost as if it was deterred by the attention, the shadows drew back, until they clung to a humanoid shape.

The threat of the inhuman gone, confidence returned to the mob. The two men fighting had enough wits about them to recognize a hostile intent.

"[What- whatever you are, back off! We caught her!]"

The jawless skull stared blankly, but an annoyed turn affected the mouth underneath. "Tsk."

The crowd of Elevens moved closer, brandishing knives, brooms, pistols, waved around in a futile threat. "[Go on, get out of here!]"

The figure was a statue in the face of the crowd, even as their tempers flared and escalated-

It's as if it was waiting for that exact reaction.

The man who had initiated the fight began this one as well. He thrust his knife forwards-

The figure's arm lashed out, a dark blur whipping around-

Impact-

Impact after impact-

What little Oceane could see of this newcomer was a mosaic of bent bodies and a whirling hurricane of blows, stemming from this black figure. The skull mask crawled on the ground in one moment, and then spun in the air, like a spider jumping from a wall onto its prey.

Every blow came from something like an elbow, a lashing turn about its fulcrum that threw any opposition to the ground. Impossible angles of attack struck the Elevens. A staggering myriad of strikes flew from the murky shape.

But Oceane didn't care about that. The how didn't matter, just the now.

She took the opportunity to move. The burning in her chest had calmed, and she focused on the truck where her precious equipment was. Two seconds of crawling, and she was just at the door.

She noticed the quiet, unsettling and all-too-sudden. Alarms rang. Turn around. Turn around.

The skull was peering down at her in a trapped joker's smile.

"Augh! Get back!" The tightness returned. Oceane desperately pulled at her pocket, the multitool barely emerging from her pocket. It slipped as she fumbled, and the multitool clattered out of her hand. Oceane grimaced at the futile attempt.

The skull cocked its head at the gesture. Strangely, under the black haziness, a strand of white appeared over the mask's forehead. "Don't enter the truck. Find cover in an apartment. They're sending more."

"More- more what? Elevens? Men in black? Bad people?"

Puzzlement caused the bony specter to ponder the question. "More like stupid people."

---

"Here?" Kayeri blinked. The place Oceane was alleged to be looked like the last place for a bastion of cyberwarfare. Rubble and grey occupied the street, and the buildings were concrete blocks of drab. Probably the point of the place.

Charles Barnes nodded. "That's what an Officer Whitfield said on the communications line to his HQ. Frankly, I'm surprised they didn't send in their SWAT teams already."

"Mm." Already, Brant was ill at ease. This was why he didn't get the boots on the ground. A squad of 20 knightmares was incredibly easy to track, much more so than several squads of infantry. Too much got lost in between orders and action, and even though Brant drew his support from the Queen's Rangers, he knew that quality had nothing on chance. The QRs were good, but he wasn't willing to risk 50 lives when Oceane commanded a tank brigade or a knightmare squad to attack. The loss of eight Knight Police was severe, but the number came out better than he expected.

Two helicopters- UH60 Black Hawks- transported the 22 Rangers that would extract Oceane. The third- a MH60 Black Hawk Direct Action Penetrator- carried Brant, Noble, and Barnes, along with a complement of two 30mm chain guns, a pair of Hydra 70 rocket pods, and a pair of miniguns. Behind them was King's Group A, standing stationary to form a contain of the sectioned ghetto.

The numbers came out right. In Kayeri Brant's service in the 'quiet patriotism' of the Office, he learned the hard less of relying on those numbers.

Barnes, his tactician and resident scientist peered down. "Say, are those Elevens down there?"

"Wonder what they're doing there." Noble fixed his helmet over his shock of blonde, his rugged looks obscured by a balaclava. "I guess we'll find out, eh?"

"Neh." Brant reached for his radio, lifting it to his ear. "Drop them in. Sweep the buildings, get her alive."

"Yessir!"

Brant rolled his eyes at Noble and Barnes's chuckles. "Grow up, you two. I'm only two years older than you guys."

"Well, sir, we can't all be directors. You should appreciate the respect." Barnes followed up with a sardonic salute, causing Kayeri to scowl.

"It's just Brant-" Unceremoniously, the director found himself shushed by his combat specialist.

"Shh." Noble prepped the minigun. "There's commotion down below." He turned the volume up on the squad leader's channel.

"-have a bunch of unconscious Elevens on the ground. Proceed cautiously, Oceane is more dangerous than intel's assessment. Torches on."

Kayeri raised an eyebrow. "The girl is an asthmatic stick." But he looked out anyways as the copter passed over the two squads, and saw the prone bodies.

And a black murk rolling behind a Ranger. It had barely caught his eye, but there was a chill in his arm, and a strange hostility he felt.

He grabbed the radio from Noble. "Rangers, hostile to your six-"

He recognized it. That black smoke, the skull-

The assassin that tore into the five-man vanguard.

A Servant- there is a Servant here. I hate being right about my precautions.

He ran to the cockpit and hammered on the door. "We need lights! Floodlights, now!"

---

It was pure luck that Oceane reached the second floor in time to see who her savior was.

The skull and cloak drifted off somewhere while she was clambering over the decrepit staircase. Fear became the vital force propelling her up those stairs, and try as she might, nothing came out of the questions spinning in her head.

Who is that skull?

Why did he help me?

She clambered up the last step in a heaving motion. The pounding in her ears faded, to be replaced by the chopping reverberations of helicopter blades.

Black- Black Helicopters?

She couldn't help herself. She peered outside and up-

The floodlights lit, throwing her gaze back down.

Her eyes were caught on the black mass surrounding the skull as the light made contact.

The mass transformed into a fluid, writhing sea, spreading its tides over the street. The shadows shattered in a gale and passed upwards, as if the light was the mortal blow to its existence-

The shadows became a wall between two elevations, blocking off the copters' line of sight onto the street. It had passed over Oceane's head, like a dark cloud she could touch. But she only had eyes for the source of this shadow.

And for the first time, Oceane realized that her savior was human, after all.

A white skull mask stared outwards. White hair framed the mask, cut lower than the jawline, just the height to cause question of the figure's gender. It didn't help that the figure's profile was a masculine body with feminine graces, a taut, lithe frame like a cat's.

His- her?- tanned skin was visible from the minimalistic outfit, a crimson t-shirt, black tactical pants, combat boots, and a hard-case armguard adorned with a single red cloth and a gold armlet.

That armguard, now at the throat of a Ranger, pushing against his windpipe-

And the figure twisted his body, leaping up into the air, impossibly turning the Ranger's head up and clockwise-

Snap.

Impossibly fast, he ran to the next Ranger. Even as the Ranger brought his rifle up to bear, the skull had grabbed the foregrip and spun, centripetal force added to the knife in his right hand. It sunk in deeply into the jugular, and the rifle was ripped out of the Ranger's hands. In that motion, too, the knife vanished back in its sheathe.

It was incredibly fluid, incredibly efficient. There were no wasted movements, and even before the soldier's body hit the floor, the figure was already on his way to the entire contingent of the Rangers.

Oceane was entranced. This- soldier? Commando?- he was her defender.

---

The skull-masked girl had her jaw set. She hated these colors, these azure conceptions of intent.

There were eighteen blues left, their black uniforms and body armor thrumming in her ears.

Her training kicked in, and she sprung off from her position, directing her newly-acquired rifle towards the enemy in a forward-grip, shoulders hunched forward and her aiming hand almost at the muzzle.

The gun's report instantly flooded her nose with a staccato of sour tangs, a satisfactory sensation as three of the vibrant-blue human-shapes fell, their color bleeding out to the ground.

More sour tangs and sharp cracks filled her nose and ears. The stupid people were shooting back.

She dove and rolled behind a building's corner. The concrete grits dug into her back, and enemy fire threw dust and debris up. But for the moment, she was safe.

Under the skull, the girl focused her eyes and stared through the building. She could perceive their positions in her mind's eye, two soldiers huddled behind the next block, eight covering the diagonals, and five approaching her position.

She poked out her rifle on the side of the building and squeezed the trigger, turning the angle, until the clip was depleted. Five more blues went down.

Immediately, she dropped the spent rifle and sprinted. She vaulted over a railing, slamming into a faceplate with a sickening crunch as she whipped out her Beretta into the visor of another man and pulling the trigger-

Blue began fading again, and a distinctly familiar metal tang filled her nose. Two more dead.

She used her momentum to send herself into a flip, pushing herself up and the crushed face down. There was another blue spitting fire at her, and she could feel the bullets speed by over her head. Her foot ended this as it completed its arc, cracking the AR-15's rifle casing. She leaned her entire body forward with her prepared counter and drove her Beretta in an outside-in strike, using her elbow as a fulcrum.

And she fired those blows again and again into his neighbors, raining arced strikes with her hand and pistol butt with a steel heaviness and intensity.

Three more-

She ducked in time with the falling bodies, gritting her teeth as she felt the distant rip of a SAW infiltrate her nose. That was a distasteful smell, made worse by the iron-like stench of blood from the bursting body behind her. Two rounds were discharged from her pistol, indigo flashes of heat in response to the similar azure rejections.

Two more down.

The seven remaining soldiers were backing off in the open, spraying lead and obscenities down the street at the building where their brothers-in-arms just fell. Even in the face of this-

She charged, weaving between lines of fire to cover the span in seconds. The blazing muzzles passed in a blur, their black-clad users recoiling back as she entered their formation.

She was at their center, and they couldn't chance shooting without risking friendly fire.

Her Beretta burst forward to embed the muzzle into the first soldier's neck. It was soft, the cushy collapse of the windpipe eliciting a comfortable, warm, red feeling in the girl.

She twisted a full 180, the muzzle leading the head of the Ranger to align with the major contingent of remaining soldiers. Their bullets caught the side of his body armor, burrowing into his arm, but she was too far to the side from her leaning spin for the bullets to hit.

She folded her left leg in, and she and the body descended, almost to the ground.

Her firing arc was perfectly aligned with her targets.

The muzzle flare cooked the windpipe and sent heated exhaust up the soldier's mouth and down into his lungs. The first bullet shredded and mushed muscle and cartilage, obliterating the fourth cervical vertebrae and exiting the nylon-kevlar weave in a red mist, impacting into the visor of the first soldier in the arc. Each of the following bullets travelled similarly, with uncanny accuracy and precision.

It was almost as if she could see them even behind the body she was using as a shield.

Seven down.

And not a moment too soon, she could feel the drain on her limited prana stores by the wide Concealment from the being she bound to her bracelet.

She gazed at the shadowy sky she cast. The passengers within the Black Hawks assuredly couldn't see her through her magecraft, but the sounds of the propellers and the flow of the air currents were enough for her to see each helicopter through the impenetrable murk. I'll take care of those soon enough.

The gusts from the revolving blades threw her white hair to and fro. She tightened her red twine holding her hair in its short ponytail, and dashed to the apartment Oceane was in, the shadows converging back onto her.

---

Upload: Complete: 76%

Estimated time to completion: 31 minutes

---

As the shadows cleared, Oceane ducked back behind the wall of the apartment.

Oceane's thoughts were still about in a whirl. What she did now, what she was- she never really expected to survive, even with Kingfish's advice. 'Tactically' sound though it was, she still didn't think using the Purists to cover her escape to be a viable plan.

But she was alive, and there was much more of a hope in that fact than she originally considered.

It was like a light novel or something. She always thought those were ridiculously cheesy, contrived things. The cliché of a trapped protagonist saved by a mysterious hero x in the face of death felt cheap. But, she did face the prospect of death, and it did give depth to the salvation afforded by the boy who protected her.

She absentmindedly checked her smartphone, checking the progress of the upload. They still didn't find her viruses, so DeadPrinces was getting everything from the OSI mainframe in Area Eleven. That was good.

There were a few messages from Kingfish, and they were a little disappointing.

Kingfish00: Oceane, are you alright?

Kingfish00: Take the truck along the alley, go straight into the freeway

Kingfish00: Use the Japanese to cover your escape

Kingfish00: Don't be afraid to ram a blockade

Kingfish00: If you're captured, wipe this phone

Kingfish00: Or destroy it

There was only so much she could do, and this affirmation from Kingfish made her feel worse about it. She chose to spend her life in front of a computer, no two ways of going about it. Reminding her of the weaknesses of that decision didn't help.

It was sheer fortune that she was saved, by a mysterious masked hero, and she didn't feel one whit better about it. She was grateful for his help, but Oceane did not appreciate feeling weak.

Speaking of which, she had seen him running towards her place.

Oceane noticed a light rhythmic patter, and no sounds of combat. She looked up.

The skull-faced assassin stared down at her, his foot tapping and his arms crossed expectantly.

"Hey." Oceane waved lamely. Maybe I should get up.

She rose to her feet, coming to the same height as her rescuer. The dark pits in the skull caught her eyes, peering silently into her own opaque lenses.

An awkward silence ensued as Oceane tried to collect herself.

Waitaminute- why is his body so- tapered? Crossing those arms over his chest doesn't help, but it looks like he has- Oh .Ohhhhh.

Jeez, she's strong, then. And underdeveloped-

Like I'm one to talk …

"Tch." She appraised the girl- not a guy- in front of her. Toned strength and a sleek fit of her clothes lent to the figure's appearance of an urban combatant, but her skin tone and physical posture- they expressed a sort of subtle ferocity like that of an Arabic lioness. It was almost supernatural, the impression Oceane received, of sand and fluid motion and death. But she couldn't be any older than Oceane.

The only way to find out is to ask, I guess. "So, I guess you're a Servant. Killer? Your friends are Rider and Archer, and I doubt you'd be called Pistolier or Knifer."

Again, the skull was cocked sideways in response. Oceane sighed. She admitted it, that was stupid. "Nevermind. Who are you?"

"… Hope."

"Hoper?" But it dawned quickly on her. "You- you're the one who jumped my worm! Hope!"

The skull nodded. It remained silent, now appraising the scrawny frame. Oceane couldn't help but squirm under its gaze. It spoke unexpectedly.

"Are you ready to go?"

Oceane found herself off-put by the brusque response. "Well, Hope-"

The skull shook her head. "That's not my name."

Right, it should just be a handle. Oceane realized that she was being rude. Being a geek did that to her social skills. She stuck out her hand, a bit awkwardly. "Um, my name's Oceane Coupe. What's your name?"

The skull didn't take the proffered hand, and Oceane had to let it down sheepishly. "Does Assassin fit?"

She blinked. "Well, yes-"

But the assassin shook her head and began chuckling, at some private joke.

"Mm. I'm Canaan." The skull's smile widened.

"Do you play Cat's Cradle?"

---

"Brant, what was that?" Noble was shocked.

"Assassin. Presence Concealment, damnit." Brant shook his head. "Well, this makes choosing the Purists a good idea." He knocked on the cockpit. "Pull up, get everyone up to 300 feet."

Barnes raised his head from the minigun mount. "Brant, there's a truck moving. It just passed under us. Imaging has two figures inside."

Oceane and Assassin. "Under us?" Brant ran to the other mount, gripping the trigger. Surely enough, right outside his firing arc, a small truck sped out the street and into the alley. "Mackenzie, you have the HVI heading your way in a white truck. Be warned, there is a Servant inside. His ability to penetrate your armor is limited, so act accordingly. All he should have are daggers."

"Copy. We were just reinforced by Clovis's Sutherland regulars, so this should be an easy sweep."

"Good. Check six, or whatever you air folk say for luck."

"Mmhmm, you got that right for once. You still want her alive?"

He had to think that one over for a second. "Killing that Servant takes priority."

"Copy again. Good luck to you too."

Brant let the radio drop. The only sign of response for the current situation was a tightening of his jaw.

All in the line of duty. I've seen worse.

They died fighting a Servant. It was a pity, but it was necessary.

He would have to think up of something better in the white letters to the families. Right now, that was enough.

---

"Canaan, there's a lot of knightmares coming onto our route."

Oceane's phone displayed the Britannian's IFFs. Ten knightmares were assembled in a firing line right at the freeway entrance, and three squads were converging from the left, right, and behind.

She doubted that her friend's pistol packed enough power to take them out, and nothing in that small satchel had anything either.

The morning light had yet to rise, but the darkness provided little cover or relief. It was getting harder to drive, too. "Um …"

It also didn't help that Canaan had apparently took a nap.

"Take a right."

Alright, maybe it was a little hard to tell, but she was lounging comfortable in shotgun. "I'll take care of the knightmares. Just drive where I tell you to."

"If you say so, but just how-" The chilly morning air jolted Oceane. Canaan was no longer anywhere to be seen.

Oceane gulped. Maybe she was going to die.

---

Canaan clambered up the fire escape, then leapt onto the ledge of the next building. The night-morning air was invigorating, a chilly gale piercing through the tight-fit t-shirt. She savored the pins-and-needles, little hints of greens and blues in her vision. It was so tempting to take off her mask, and she raised her hand to the ugly white thing-

"You're almost done. Keep the pretense for as long as you can."

"… Fine."

"And deploy the djinn. You should have recovered by now."

She grimaced at that. She hated losing her vision, the ripples of the spirit's sand on her skin. Becoming blackened for some disguise as Assassin was distasteful. She already had the true Hashashin- or as close as she could to having them.

But she complied, rubbing her bracelet. Immediately, her vision clouded, the pins-and-needles becoming a stale sand. And with only a moment to spare, because the light from the Black Hawks just touched her.

She, a mass of shadows, changed direction, and predictably, the copters followed. Gunfire from the cannons and miniguns began to chew up the rooftops, but they couldn't keep up with Canaan.

There was a 10-meter gap between her and the next building, a strange absence of surface to carry the vibrations of her footsteps and a presence of air she could detect via the whistling before her. Conveniently, there was the rightwards group of knightmares inside that gap. Sutherlands, if she remembered Ki- her handler's advice.

She abruptly dove sideways, the tops of the Sutherlands with their floodlights before her- and more importantly, the Black Hawks passing over her and positioned right above the Sutherlands.

The Sutherlands which, incidentally, were the ones she had leapt over at the G-1 Base.

She reached into her satchel, switching on the ultrasound emitter. No larger than her Beretta, it was an ugly affair of wires, with a dish focuser and two piezoelectric elements calibrated for 700 kHz and 16.744036 kHz. She had cobbled it together from an old LRAD device and a piano tuner the night before, and frankly, she would have preferred to have used a simple timer or switch-detonator.

But she relied on it. It was the only weapon with a reliable firing line that she could see, under the guise of her blinding shadows. At least, she could rely on the 16.744036 kHz.

The toggle was switched on for the low-pass, and the lower pitch was fired. She could see the harmonics like a cone, colored a vibrant yellow. Unconsciously, she hummed the note played. She took a moment to align the cone with her targets, almost lazily adjusting the spread, as if she had all the time in the world.

And she did, really. She already beat 100 million pounds of military equipment. Satisfied, she toggled the second sonic on.

In each satchel was an ultrasound trigger detonator harmonized for 700 kHz, and four of these were within the cone of emission.

A localized detonation of C4 and ejection fuel jetted out several shockwaves in a sympathetic explosion. The blast wave carried the low-flying Black Hawks up, but not enough to allow them escape from the heat burst. The two transport helicopters lost control and altitude, colliding and shrieking into the adjacent buildings.

Brant's copter was knocked about, and for a moment, it looked like it was about to join its two brothers in death. Instead, it regained stability, and stared angrily at Canaan.

She replied by pointing the business end of her ultrasonic gun at the pilot.

The windscreen shattered. He started and grabbed his ears, trying desperately to remove his helmet. In imitation, the helicopter bucked, impacting its nose into the standing wreckage of a Sutherland.

Canaan didn't bother to watch. She had already begun running to the next group of knightmares, and indeed, it had responded to the explosion, just a hundred meters away. She fired the ultrasonics again.

That explosion lit up the night quite nicely, without the helicopters to block the sound and the shockwave of hot air.

I really should check up on Oceane.

---

I really am going to die.

-was the thought on Oceane's mind during her careening collision course through the ghetto and over a few Elevens. She was following the road to the south exit, the next-best choice to the one blocked off by a now-reinforced squadron of twenty knightmares. Mostly Purists, with a few Army Sutherlands interspersed.

There were five lagging behind- King's Halifax group, something Oceane was grateful for. But that was small comfort.

The truck was quite a few blocks away, well on its way from the west exit to the southern exit from the ghetto. Immediately following were the last of the Army Sutherlands, the four just about to catch up with it.

I guess I would have left a lost cause too, if I were in Canaan's shoes.

In the rear-view mirror, the body of a Sutherland appeared. They caught up with her.

Oceane closed her eyes. I wonder how it would feel like, being torn apart by bullets larger than my head-

The explosions rocked her forwards, an invisible hand shoving her vehicle towards escape. Any moment now, she would feel the heat bathe her body, popping her eardums and eyes-

But there was no scorching blaze. I'm still alive?

She was startled by a rapping on her window.

There was a skull peering inside, upside down, with white hair hanging loosely.

"Canaan?" She hit the button, and in slid her ally, like a cat curling into a cushion, as if she had never left.

"Hm?"

"Did you kill them?"

"You could say that."

The burning skeletons were still shrinking, but in the mirror, Oceane could see the husks clearly, in a black smog outlined by an orange glow.

"Thanks, you saved my life again."

Canaan just stared at the passing road, still feeling the adrenaline from leaping just overhead the first Sutherland, being lifted by the pressure wave as they exploded. It felt better than the sun on her skin, a warm, warm red with a melody of rattles and booms filling her nose. The smell- somewhat fragrant, even among the natural odors of chemical explosive and polluted smoke. Like a citric fruit, that's what it was.

Her bracelet caught her eye. It was shining more, rather than being clouded by the djinn bound inside. That was a sure sign he was tired. One more fight for today- then we're done.

Oceane spoke. "Um- Well, I hope you have a plan for the exit, there's twenty frames coming over here."

Canaan debated fighting them. She had rigged about twenty cockpits, and she had killed twelve. That left eight interspersed with the twelve Purist frames. She was getting tired, though. Oh, well. It never really ends.

"Pull the truck over."

---

Jeremiah was, in a word, frustrated.

Both Brant and Clovis were insistent on using this inordinate amount of resources (to think that a full combat detachment of thirty knightmares would be deployed) to capture this girl, or so he thought just minutes ago.

Then Brant warned Mackenzie that there was a Servant running around, and then 60% of the Army's Sutherlands were killed. Brant went down with his helicopters, and now Clovis was in a state of panic.

He actually hoped Brant was alright. The man, for all his disagreements with the Purist Party, had a sound mind on his shoulders, and decently capable. And if his man in OSI was right, then Brant actually fought something like a Servant once and won, or something of the sort.

Right now, he should be focusing on the mission.

"Status, Kewell?"

"Not good. It seems like the truck stopped somewhere."

"Damn." It was to be suspected, if this Oceane was good enough to pull the wool over the Knight Police's eyes. She would be able to tell if there were knightmares patrolling her point of egress. However, time was not on her side. With each passing minute, the sky lightened, the sunrise almost imminent. She would make a move with her Servant soon. "Be ready for an ambush."

"Roger. What sort of formation?"

Jeremiah had to think that one over. The IFFs of the Sutherland groups went offline simultaneously. If that Servant could destroy a squad of Sutherlands in a single second, then he has to possess some sort of area-of-effect weapon. That … little girl Brant showed us, she used a sword. Grouping up against such a small target would be a mistake.

"Spread out, stagger yourselves. If the enemy engages us, I don't want to lose multiple knights to a single strike."

It was a good plan, if the Servant attacked. Kewell nodded understandingly.

But to reassure himself, Jeremiah turned to watch the force he led.

There were twelve Purist frames, including his, and eight Army frames. On the road, in staggered formation, they could exterminate any armored, aerial, or infantry threat with ease. He was glad to have brought along this much firepower. A long-range engagement with a Servant appeared to be the best course of action.

"Everything good, Margrave?" The captain of the Army troop pulled up alongside the Purist command group. He was respectable enough, but clueless about the situation.

Everything was not good. This was supposed to be an easy mission. After the Knight Police engagement and Clovis's announcement, Jeremiah thought that this would have been over quickly. But then this Servant appeared, and his gut told him that it all was going to end badly. Of course, the captain didn't need to know that.

"We'll be intercepting Oceane shortly. I'm simply taking precautions against the Elevens. We don't know who's destroying your knightmares, but I have a feeling that it's those natives who have attacked."

"The fools." Contempt tinged the captain's voice, and Jeremiah appreciated the vehemence against the enemies of Holy Britannia. "We'll avenge-"

The captain vanished in orange, just after the shockwave collided with Jeremiah's frame. The scouring discharge of heat and pressure threw Jeremiah's frame and Kewell's to the ground.

Jeremiah could make out Kewell's voice. "Ambush! Take cover!"

He blinked foggily, his HUD directed at a rooftop. There were still too many shadows to see-

Save for a pair of skulls shaking. Immediately, Jeremiah had an imprint of laughter upon his consciousness.

The static flickered, then cracked across his HUD. He could see those figures no more.

They're picking us off.

He switched his comm to all frequencies. "Stagger! Create a firebase! They're on the damn roofs!"

They didn't comply. All Jeremiah could do was watch. The Purists had clustered with the Army in groups of four knightmares each, as was standard operating procedure. They shielded themselves under the bridge and behind the structural supports. It was a good position to defend against crossfire, shells, and missiles.

I doubt that's going to help.

Seven concurrent explosions rocked the bridge, on it and under it.

He watched two Army Sutherlands twist from a sphere of hot pressure at their chests, amputating an arm off of a Purist's Sutherland.

Another Purist frame was shoved forward, still stable and standing, only to be picked up like a ragdoll by the third and fourth blast waves.

The fifth, sixth, and seventh rippled static and grey interference across his screen. He almost hit his ejection right then and there.

The attack ended as suddenly as it started.

Jeremiah forced his hands to handle the ply with the controls. The joysticks were barely responsive. Still, he got his knightmare to rise. "Sound off, who's still operational?"

"This is Viletta. We have three of our men alive here."

"Kewell speaking. Five with me. What just hit us?"

To his relief, the entirety of the Purist group remained intact, though not unscathed. They were surrounded by the wreckage of Army knightmares. Fortune had smiled on pure blood today, it appeared that the only casualties were Clovis's men.

The two black-clad wraiths were nowhere to be seen. They could have pressed the attack, if they were capable of destroying eight knightmares in one fell swoop. He was relieved that they didn't, but he knew that he had to remain vigilant.

If he continued pursuing, there was no doubt that those Servants-

Servants?

We are engaging two of those abominations?

Dismissing the shame, he jammed the switch again and again, this time fully raising all communications with the remaining force. "All Purists, we are disengaging and falling back. I am not willing to waste your lives on this pursuit, until that threat is destroyed."

There was a silent compliance across the channel. The full Purist platoon weaved through the bottom of the bridge, away from the burning husks.

Only one task remained that Jeremiah assigned himself. He patched himself through to Mackenzie. "Colonel, I recommend a full retreat. We did all we could, but we lost eight knightmares without making contact. Brant failed to inform us that there were two Servants present."

"Two? You're certain of this?"

"I have it on my HUD. I'm certain of it."

"Shit. I actually might have to order this ghetto to be leveled. Damn, why did I make these Halifaxes so slow?"

"No, don't come here. I won't allow it." The harshness of his tone surprised Jeremiah. Combat fatigue was definitely setting in, but he felt something compelling him to deter King from entering the combat zone.

"I am your superior officer, Jeremiah-"

"And I'm your party superior. Those things destroyed every single Army Sutherland in every engagement in seconds."

He could hear her frustration over the communications channel. "I understand your concern. I'm heading over to pick up Brant and his team. We'll be egressing soon-"

Shots rang out over the comm channel. "It's the natives. Jeremiah, we're going to be delayed. I'm forwarding you the command codes to First Wing."

"Understood. Stay safe, Mackenzie. I'm pretty sure First Wing wants to hear you give them orders." He couldn't shake the foreboding feeling in his gut, but if anyone could beat it, it was Mackenzie.

But if anyone could beat Mackenzie- it would be a Servant.

---

"Canaan, let me get my stuff-"

"There's no time. We have to let the truck go. I can get you to safety."

"But-"

"It's going to slow us down. We'll go west again."

"We'd be backtracking! Isn't there-"

"I can't fight twelve knightmares. This is the best route."

"That's where Brant is, with the rest of those ridiculous knightmares on their way."

…

"Just drive."

---

"Well, Brant, I guess they really didn't like Clovis's offer." Barnes quipped some wry humor, even as he was pulling an unconscious Noble from the wreckage.

"Whatever."

Brant was firing warning shots at the approaching populace. He was standing on the minigun post, and both the trapped pilot and Barnes wondered why he simply didn't open fire under the cover of the wrecked Black Hawk. He certainly was pissed enough.

"Is anyone coming to get us?"

"Just King and her group."

Another shot, but this time the director had to duck from the sparse return fire. Barnes was able to catch a glimpse of Brant's countenance. He looked conflicted, half distraught and half resolute.

The slide clicked as Brant ran out of ammunition. He tossed it away.

"Brant?"

"Hm?"

"Do you want me to provide covering fire?"

He stared blankly at his subordinate. "They're still citizens, Agent Barnes."

"… You want to tell that to our ride?"

Indeed, entering from the right were the five Halifaxes, one with a knife embedded in its head. Akin to cavalry charging to the rescue, they halted menacingly before the crowd, their pointed chests with autocannon directed in the Elevens' general direction.

But they didn't open fire, and their recipients of mercy backed off slowly.

Brant nodded approvingly, and helped the copter pilot out of his seat. Each of the Halifaxes, save Mackenzie's, folded into their vehicle configuration to allow their new passengers to embark.

Barnes noticed that the director wasn't entering a knightmare. "Director Brant?"

"I'll follow shortly. Go on, shoo."

Brant watched his team leave with Group A. As soon as they were out of the picture, he raised Mackenzie on the comm channel. "You didn't have to stay, you know."

"I doubt you'd be able to handle two Servants."

That was a mild surprise for Brant, one more too many for this spectacular start to the day. "Two?"

"Yep. Jeremiah is in full retreat. He saw two skulls, just like the one you saw." The barrels of the gatling cannon warmed up . "I'm fast enough to fill them with flak if I get the drop on them."

"No, they're Assassins. Specialists in getting the drop, so something like your Halifax won't be able to get any sort of advantage from surprise. I'm more concerned with how they destroyed the knightmares beneath us." He gestured to the four husks still burning. "I think those attacks were a one-time thing."

"Twenty Army Sutherlands a one-time thing?" The Halifax's head turned to Brant, a Factsphere flap slightly raised incredulously. The effect was made worse by the knife protruding out from its head.

"… You're right, it shouldn't have happened." Brant popped a mint into his mouth. He stared at the rooftops expectantly.

Mackenzie recognized that sort of melancholy. It was familiar, the voice that accompanied a thousand-yard stare. "You saved lives, you know. It would have been worse with the infantry."

"I suppose so."

"I meant pure infantry, like Clovis would have done." Mackenzie grimaced, even if Brant couldn't see her inside the cockpit. "I don't think I would have done as well as you have. Sending in knightmares to catch a hacker, that's one thing. But minimizing loss of life by reducing soft target exposure, that's tactical foresight."

But how did you come to the conclusion that the best course was that course? The only way is if you assumed all along that the worst would happen- that a Servant could strike.

Mackenzie smirked, despite the fatigue. She had a new respect for the director. "So what's the plan?"

"Well …" Brant paced forwards, keeping his gaze on the rooftops. "I thought that I'd talk them to death."

---

Canaan didn't expect something like this. Brant was just standing there, waiting, with a strange knightmare next to him.

Her two servants were next to her, the ultrasonic detonator in pieces in their hands.

They really should be more careful with that.

She scooped the pieces up into her satchel. Her next move was not as easy.

I can't tell if Brant has any hostility- his color is off. It's not blue.

The voice in her earpiece also cautioned her. "Do not engage. It's finished."

The arguments were juggled briefly. She could finish the illusion with Brant seeing Assassin, or she could leave him be and hope that the testimony of a few soldiers and a glimpse of her shadows was enough.

She made a compromise. "Go. I'll follow."

The two skulls nodded and laughed.

---

Krrrk-kikirrrk.

The three floating skulls presented themselves.

"Hm. And here I was thinking there were just two of you." Brant kept his cool. He expected there to be multiple Assassins, just like the last Grail War. "Indulge my curiosity. Why deploy three of you for a single hacker? I'm pretty sure Oceane isn't your Master."

The skulls just leered at him.

"I guess that was a silly question. But there's a silly answer behind it, isn't there. Magus have no use for technology- oh, I'm sorry, they don't know how to use it, and they prefer to use their own methods. Silly me, there is a small distinction."

But he smiled. "Doesn't it make that easy to figure out what magus uses technology, though? It's by virtue of the fact. The only magus willing to bow to technology would be one lacking prana, one who grew up with exposure to technology, or one ruthless enough to ignore deep-seated tradition.

"Now, I have a better question- rather, a story. Have you heard of the Magus-Killer? Emiya Kiritsugu? Fearsome guy, according to the OSI files. He almost won the Grail War, being the only other master alive. He lost in the end, though. For all his use of guns and explosives and technology, he fell at the Grail's collapse. He wasn't enough of a magus to handle it.

"And I want you to bring that message to your Master, wherever he is. He's going to end up the exact same way." Brant smiled. "His desperation for a simple hacker won't go unnoticed."

He searched for a reaction. The leftmost skull was shaking, just an imperceptible shiver, but he saw it. Assassins should have different personalities. As impersonal as they were, he felt an instinctual push to manipulating that current of unease.

"You can tell your Master that we do have an offer to give. He can keep his command seals, keep fighting in this war. All he has to do is-"

Laughter. The youthful laughter of a teenaged girl. Quiet, but mirthful.

"Heh. You shouldn't speak ill of the dead." The leftmost skull bobbed, sidling to the left more.

The rightmost skull spoke, with the exact same voice. "Still, I'd advise you to be more wary of the living."

"Like your Master?"

"I'm here. That's a silly question to ask."

"Was it? I have enough now. Perhaps we'll meet again." He turned his back. He knew it was a tempting target.

As soon as he heard the wind shift and the roar of the cannon, he dove to the leg of the Halifax and covered his ears.

---

Canaan could tell that the knightmare was something she couldn't take down.

She could also see, from the iridescent cobalt, that the gatling gun on its chest was the most hateful weapon she had ever encountered.

A long tongue of fire shouted heat at her, tearing the air with a stream of white-hot shells.

She soared to the right with the djinn fluttering on her boots, but it wasn't enough. The sheer mass of the 30mm ordnance threw concrete sheets at her that dissolved into thousands of gritty shards.

She had the djinn seal off her eyes and ears. The air currents were enough for her to run through the fire line, speeding over the wrecked street, ignoring the temperature, the pressure, or the fact that five hundred rounds devoured the street surrounding her.

Craters erupted from the earth. The compression of air began to beat against her skin, she was that close to the cannon. The angular, silver frame tracked her path, but it seemed to lag just a millisecond behind, and that was enough for Canaan.

She dove through the knightmare's legs and fired into the joints-

To no effect.

It was to be expected. She had nothing much to even dent the knightmare.

But she was just a diversion, because she was faster than even her assassins. Her assassins, which had taken to the rooftops and were preparing to destroy this knightmare. She prepared to run through the opposite side-

The Halifax twisted its legs and spun on a dime, about its central z-axis. Tossing gravel into the air, it skidded back, over Canaan. Blindingly fast, without reason or warning.

---

Mackenzie grinned. "Dodge this!"

The cannon roared out another burst, joined by the vulcan on its arm. Plumes of concrete dust snaked about Canaan's position and chewed through the concrete. Like the hammer of an angry god, the tattoo of the bullets obliterated any sense of civilization left on that ghetto's street.

Mackenzie knew she missed the floating darkness. The flickering of her HUD from Whitfield's knife was playing havoc with her targeting.

Still, she had made sure that Brant escaped. He was heaving in her other arm, draped over her sheathed mass blade.

She took the luxury of opening her cockpit. "Get in!"

Brant didn't need to be told twice. He jumped, sliding in the cramped back. "You think you can take that Assassin and the other two?"

"I have ammunition and armor. They have- what, knives?"

"Watch out- the roof."

Mackenzie swiveled her frame. "Wait- are those-?"

Instead of continuing her sentence, she let loose a hail of vulcan fire. The screen flickered, one side fizzling out for a second.

The white skull disappeared behind the building.

"Shit, that was one- aw, hell."

"Mackenzie?"

"The third one." Instinct born from dozens of dogfights kicked in. She shot off another capacitor charge, and spun to face her six. Sure enough, a skull and cloak had already reached the apex of its flight. Her vulcan, on her arm aimed skyward, blared another clarion call of tracer and shot, but the assassin sped faster and faster-

Ten bullets collided with the assassin, tears in the black cloak streaking from the back.

"Damn it-" And then Mackenzie heard it, the rattle of feet on the roof.

---

Canaan hit the switch, the plastique blasting off the hatch lid. Instantly, the dark pits of her skull mask greeted the grim faces of Kayeri Brant and Mackenzie King.

She planted two dirks into the controls. That startled them.

King sprang up, throwing a punch. It almost connected with the skull-face, but it had shifted to the right.

Its response was a rapid grip on her blonde ponytail. The black body of the "snake," a punishing elbow, connected with King's temple-

Almost. King had thrown up her arms in defense, but the blow was still enough to rattle her grey matter within her cranium.

Canaan pushed her dazed body aside and grabbed Brant's collar. Her body twisted, and Brant found himself thrown out of the cockpit, in a free-fall to the hard ground.

The cracked grey ground rushed closer. He tried raising his arms to absorb the impact, but the gravel sent concentrated pains through his body.

He rolled over, to the sight of the black body and the white skull floating overhead. It was soon joined by another, which had also brought King down.

"You wanted to talk us to death."

"Hah. Ahah-ahahah." It hurt to laugh. He sat up, holding his gut, and gestured to the broken assassin on the ground. "I let Colonel King do the talking."

If he didn't know better, Brant could have sworn that the skull frowned.

It knelt, drawing a pistol- his SIG Sauer. "I have a question for you. Why did you fight me?"

He sighed. "Something about a misplaced sense of duty, I suppose. A healthy bit of curiosity never hurt either."

"I could do worse than hurt you."

"Yeah, that was a risk I was willing to take. It was worth it. You could kill me or King, but then I wouldn't be able to call off the rest of King's squad from killing Oceane."

Growling purrs and grinding approached as the four Halifaxes converged on the building just to Brant's left. They unfurled their arms, their turret-bodies riding from the cradles constructed from folded legs.

"Trying to hide her right under our noses was innovative, I'll give you that. But I think you knew you were in checkmate the moment you landed dramatically."

Canaan conceded nothing, sparing only a brief glance to affirm the knightmares' positions.

She returned her gaze at Brant, who was dusting off his suit off. The side of his mouth turned up in a crooked half-smile. "So we're at an impasse. I'll still answer your question, if you'd like."

She remained silent.

"I'll take that as a yes. You know what a rabid dog is?"

"..."

"You're fighting against the heroes of ages, and your master decides to send you to take on a few human beans. All you are is a mad dog. You broke the rules of the Grail War. When you crossed the line into the world of the unsuspecting and uninitiated, you drew the attentions of a nation. It just so happened that I was the first guy to respond to the call. Well, an 'Assassin' wouldn't know much about duty, would he?"

He knew that the killing intent from these two was on a murderous level, but he didn't care. "And there's two of you left. You Servants are killable, by those machines over there."

For a moment, the skull remained frozen. Brant almost expected her to start laughing again-

"You're wrong, about two things." The assassin who had tossed him bodily spoke coldly. "I came here to win."

Brant was skeptical. "I don't see how."

"That's the second thing. Assassins may die-"

Those words were worse than any bullet, filling Brant with a wrenching apprehension.

"-but Assassin will not."

---

The shadows that remained in the rising morning swirled. A ghostly wind, a hiss and rattle of sand and musk.

The chitter of insects, and a grotesque laugh. The body that Mackenzie King shot began to vanish in a haze.

White skulls, trapped in an eternal grin, appeared. Perched on ledges, standing on rubble, crouching over Brant.

Some were already balanced on the knightmares.

Khayal al-zill. Shadow puppets. They could be called pale imitations of Servants, because they were not Servants at all.

They heeded the call their Master gave without comprehension, only a murky impression of her will giving them motion. To call out eighteen shadows was taxing for Canaan, but her affinity lightened her yoke.

A shadow is just that, an ephemeral imprint of motion given form by imitation of a corporeal thing. They were Assassins, without a doubt. But they had little capacity of interacting with the world.

In terms of combat, they were useless. However, they were extremely convenient tools of deception, and deception is the first tool an Assassin will use.

---

With that, she addressed her companions. "Get Oceane."

Kiikkikrrt.

They pooled together and spread as a single mass of darkness over the entire block. A howl of wind sped, whipping at the knightmares. And their pilots didn't do anything, paralyzed by a grip on their souls.

A chill ran down Brant's back. That was unexpected. He depressed his jacket's button, activating the mike inside.

"Incoming-"

She kicked him to the ground, cocking Brant's SIG-Sauer.

"Don't talk. You know, that's all you are. Talk."

He stopped, then slowly turned his head back to the skull and the dark hollow of the barrel.

"Here's my take. Guns are simple. Pull the trigger and everything's settled. There's none of the complexities of human relationships."

Brant watched with irresistible, sickening fascination as the trigger was pulled.

Canaan fired once, twice, ten times. She didn't stop until the clip was emptied. She observed the blue miasmas bursting from the barrel, their reports beating a metallic, ringing report into the morning rays of a purple sky.

The gun jumped up each time, spreading the craters in the ground next to Brant's head to create a crude facsimile of a halo. Shards cut into his face, drawing shallow lines of blood.

His resolve held. He held the stare of the bleached skull.

It just leered in return, its cloaking shadows flaring. "But I'm not going to kill you. I want you to know that I beat you." It dropped the spent pistol on Brant. "I want you to feel what it is to fight for hatred. You're going to drown in a bottomless darkness where the more you struggle, the more you get pulled in."

The shadow and skull leapt back. It left Brant lying on the concrete, contemplating those words, even as the Halifaxes tried to gun down the shadows that were haunting them.

They shouldn't bother.

He saw Mackenzie stir, mouthing words into her headset.

There was a screech of air, and the low rumble of missiles from the dark sky falling upon the building. She had drawn upon her First Wing in a last attempt to flatten this Servant.

Somehow, Brant still thought that would be futile.

---

Upload: Complete: 99%

Estimated time to completion: 0.4 minutes

---

The last echoes of muzzle cracks and explosions faded with the pitch-black smokescreen.

King sighed on top of her frame. "They didn't even bother to fight." She rubbed her temple ruefully.

Brant just laid there on the ground. "You alright?"

"I guess. I thought she'd kill us."

"She spent too much of her energy on us. Assassins don't have staying power."

Brant felt his phone ring. He unlocked it and raised it to his ear.

"Agent Seo?"

"Brant! Are you alright?"

"My pride's a bit hurt. Otherwise, I'm fine."

"Did it go well?"

"Almost exactly as planned. Everything screamed of theatricality. Thank you."

"No problem! You want me to take care of the end?"

Brant smiled. He had already won the mission's objective from the very beginning, placing Shizune Seo as xXDeadPrincesXx. "Wipe it out, all of it. Burn that server."

He hung up. Immediately, his gut churned, and he emptied his stomach.

---

Gavriel Whitfield lowered his scope.

He had watched this fantastical escapade from the highest vantage point, an old radio tower in the center of the ghetto. The skull-faced shadow that killed knightmares, helicopters, and clambered atop that monster he had faced- that seemed to be the enemy. The fellow in his crosshairs was a foolishly noble fellow, but if his objective was buying time for those other knightmares chasing Oceane in that truck.

Importantly, however, was the fact that the shadow was human, not just some specter that sped around killing people. He had seen it get into the car, a young girl with white hair. For a moment, he had considered taking the shot when she put the gun to that man's head. The thought was almost immediately dismissed. He wasn't going to have a kid's blood on his hands.

So what's my next step?

He could definitely bring this information to OSI, and then settle for a life back on duty-

Except the memories of his squadmates haunted him. Norris, Willis, Cohen, Creighton, Bale. If Clovis's information was right, then he had to hunt down this Oceane. Oh, the things we have to do for duty.

Sarcasm aside, he didn't relish the prospect of hunting down a kid. He had seen things in Area Six that clung to his nightmares for a long, long time.

His radio let loose a stream of static. "Officer Gavriel Whitfield of the Knight Police? El Santo Furioso?"

He blinked. "Speaking."

"This is Agent Shizune Seo of OSI's Eleventh Intelligence Detachment, Special Activities Division. We'd like to talk with you."

"I'm a little busy-"

"We're sending a helicopter over soon. Hang tight to that handrail, sir."

Puzzling and unexpected as that was, it was welcome. Whitfield considered what all this really meant, then shrugged. He'd talk when his pay grade fit the bill.

---

"I think you owe me an explanation."

Oceane glared as best as she could through her glasses. She was, in a word, upset.

Her data was deleted. Her computers were gone. She was chased around Toshima for two hours. She somehow blacked out while trembling in fright when Brant had those knightmares surround her. And now, she was driving this Canaan, napping in a stolen car, to some undisclosed location. The Britannians weren't even bothering to pursue them to. She was grateful for being saved, but she only had so much patience.

"Cranky?"

And now this girl was commenting on the sleep she didn't get. Funnily enough, Canaan was nestling her head deeper into the cushion.

"Oh, come on. You get to sleep?"

No response.

"This isn't fair. I just lost my life, and you get to sit there and sleep!" That realization did it. Oceane hit the brakes, pitching Canaan unceremoniously off her seat. Oceane's hands shook as she clenched the wheel. "You should have just left me. I saw those things and I shouldn't have. I didn't have much- I know that- but dammit!"

She punched the dashboard. "It wasn't much of a life, but it was my life. I- I became a god on the internet. Now what? I don't have anything to return to. I should have just died there."

The skull simply stared-

Oceane slumped. "Aw, hell. What do you care? You probably think I'm- a stupid proggie, that's what. Well, I'm not that anymore. I don't have my tech."

"Oceane."

"What-?"

She stared, as Canaan removed her mask.

Young. Striking. The intensity enhanced Oceane's impression of Canaan as a lioness, but what caught her eye the most was Canaan's regard. Canaan's eyes- there was a rich hazel, with a warmth and a severity that comforted Oceane.

"You should value your light." She closed her eyes, and Oceane felt herself being drawn back to reality. Canaan wriggled herself back onto her seat, and reached into the back for something. "Maybe you don't play Cat's Cradle, but a friend of mine did."

A spherical plush cat fell in Oceane's lap. There was a red bow of twine, matching the red blotches on the cat.

Oceane sighed. "It's a cat. There's a piece of string."

"Cat's Cradle is a game for two, but it only takes one to give meaning to a piece of string. Besides, strings are replaceable." Canaan leaned back again and nuzzled into the cushion.

That made sense, with a lucrative proposition attached. It was almost beyond belief. "You're going to replace my computers?"

"I saved you for a reason. You would be a little useless without your tools."

Oceane didn't know how to respond. In this entire escapade, she had never asked herself 'why'. It was amazing to be freed from her previous life- a life that she considered lost the moment she was defeated in her own area of expertise. She had a new lease.

"Okay. You have a job for me. Supposing you got me some hardware and a place to stay … what would this job be?"

"You're going to help us kill some Servants."

"Us being … ?"

Canaan motioned Oceane to pull over. They were in a wealthier town- Fuyuki, if she recalled correctly. The morning light illuminated a black Mercedes-Benz 300SL Coupe, a subtly old-fashioned sedan graced with a flowing, elegant, streamlined body.

The door opened on Oceane's side, Canaan inviting her to enter the luxury vehicle, like a chauffeur to some distinguished man introducing a new acquaintance.

Inside was a scruffy man in a black duster, his heavy eyes glaring critically at the two girls.

Canaan smiled over Oceane's shoulder. "Assassin and I."

---

Notes:

This is pretty much a side story. I'm not going to go two ways about it. However, this reflected something I wanted to portray in a story, that completely separate events from the main characters can occur because of outside variables. This probably took a toll on the main storyline, but I thought it was worth it.

Major credit to 1412 karasu, who made Oceane. It's been a year, and I don't know if she's still reading. Still, I honor the work put into a character. Hopefully, Oceane seemed like a believable character. I really enjoyed writing her (albeit 30% of the characterization couldn't be used, such as the multitudinous layers of clothing and the wheelbarrow. It's summer in this fic. And there's a chase scene). I'll definitely work on her continuing characterization in the next chapters, because she's very, very convenient for Assassin's plans.

Major credit to AngrySanto, who made/inspired Gavriel Whitfield. I was going for an observer's feel with him, but with a lot more character than the standard stand-in for the reader. Admittedly, he was a last-minute addition, but he definitely helped characterize my perspective of the events going on here.

Major, major credit to Mr. Sparkles for a certain Director Brant. Kayeri Brant is proving to be a much more difficult character to write than I expected, but definitely an enjoyable challenge. It's nice having continuity from F/ZE to F/NA. Brant took several levels in intelligence during his tours of service with OSI's Eleventh Intelligence Detachment, so be prepared for more gambits.

The hackery here is pretty much bs. I really only know theory, no coding. I'm more of a hardware guy, what with controls, dynamics and mechanics. Still, I did my best. Officially, we don't even know if the internet exists in the universe of Code Geass. Somehow, I don't think ARPAnet would have been released to the public, but hey, conjecture is conjecture. (EDIT 6/12/13: Thanks to MisterSP for reminding me that the internet does exist, though it may not be as pervasive as in this world. "It does. Lelouch is shown using a Japanese internet search engine in the first season. It's product placement, like Pizza Hut was, but he was clearly on a computer, using the internet. I think there might have been a couple other instances... students checking news sites? But I'm not sure.")

Some people might ask about Oceane's decision to not upload piecewise to the world wide web, instead to a select group of people via a private server. Assuming that every person has internet, and that information flows freely, it may have been her preferred route if she wasn't pressed for time. Because she was working with her closest friends, who had the opportunity to optimize their computers to cooperate with Oceane, it would be preferable to utilize the faster connection and file transfer speed with her friends as Oceane's programs broke down OSI's firewalls. Eh, it's a bit contrived.

Shizune Seo is a guest from Kara no Kyoukai, and pretty much Brant's ace-in-the-hole for the Grail War. She's going to be showing up in interesting ways (if you've noticed all her involvement, she never confronts the factor that a Servant is present. Hmmm).

Canaan. Canaan, Canaan, Canaan. Definitely did not want to give her the "oh hey main protagonist notices strange girl following him around" treatment. She's a Master, so she has to get the same treatment as a main supporting character deserves. At the same time, she is a major player in the early stages of the War (her current actions are pretty much going to determine Britannian combat tactics for Servants), and she's fully capable of neutralizing a Servant on her own. Writing her synesthesia was a pain, but I think it worked out well. Now, as to why she was masquerading as True Assassin with her shadow puppets, I'll leave that for you to determine.

I'll admit that I am dissatisfied with the fluidity of the chapter. I did want to include an airstrike in full, as well as a bit more knightmare combat with the khayal al-zill. Things could have also just gone smoother, but … Well, I'll see what'll happen in an edit sometime.

Assassin. Mysterious Back Alley Skullman X was certainly a candidate, but as you could probably tell, someone's pretending to be him. So, who is this actual Assassin?

I think that's it. Please ask any questions in your reviews. I won't be able to answer review by review often anymore (Argh, I'm so sorry ...), but I'll do my best to reply individually.

---

AN: Alright. It's been almost a year since my last update. That was pretty much my fault.

My biggest setback was the content of this chapter. I became pretty ambitious, writing ~9k words back in September. I intended that to be the reward for answering the prompt of the projects Rin had mentioned in the previous chapter, but … school hit like a ton of bricks. I hit a case of boredom and writer's block as well. Adding in 3 OC's didn't help.

The second largest setback was my re-reading of the fic. I had realized quite a few things about my older chapters (length and quality being the big bugaboos) that I did not like. So I actually wrote 20k words to rewrite the entire first eight chapters. I'm still working on it. I feel like an idiot, but it just turned out that way. I'll leave this to the side for a bit, because I do want to discuss that a bit more.

The third setback was my education. I was accepted into my school's graduate program early, and I made the somewhat ambitious decision to take 4 grad courses (Digital Controls, Robotics, Geometrical Modeling, and Numerical Methods, if you're interested) during my junior year spring semester, in addition to 2 undergrad courses. IT SUCKED. BAD. CLASSES WENT FROM 10AM to 10PM FOR THREE DAYS A WEEK. The good thing was that I got a 4.0 overall for the semester.

So. Those are my reasons for my fairly lengthy disappearance. I want to apologize for it. I really do love writing this fic, but my mind has been elsewhere for quite some time. I really hope these chapters (~25k of words) do make up for it, but if not, then I hope my apology is enough.

There is one person that I want to give a shout-out to, and that's Mr. Sparkles. Officially, he has surpassed me in his contribution to F/NA and F/ZE. I can't say enough on how he advised me to keep going and never stop on this. There's not much I can say, but it's there, for what it's worth.

Now, the heavy stuff. I am currently rewriting the previous chapters to include a much more concrete plot. There will be a significant improvement in the continuity of the story, as well as significant ties to each event with their previous counterparts. Action and characterization has already expanded to be far greater than my previous writing. What I need now is advice about where to go with this rewrite and your patience. However, because of the sensitive nature of the content I need help in, I need to put down a qualification.

All those who answered my question from "The whole supersoldier scene is a fairly obvious front, designed to put the powerful and influential Purist faction off guard. There are a load of references in there, and the first few (I'll be the judge of how many is "few") person who catches ALL OF THEM in the section WILL GET A SNEAK PEEK AT THE NEXT CHAPTER. I believe that there are at least three." will be allowed to PM me about what my rewrite is. All those who made an OC will also be allowed to PM me. If they want to analyze it and are not afraid of spoilers, I will provide the summary of the rewrite to them for advice.

This satisfies two concerns I had. The first was an appropriate reward for my challenge from the start of the interlude. The second was the advice I need for writing this rewrite. I'm planning on completely replacing every chapter until 8 or 9, possibly even beyond that. I would appreciate any help offered, but I want to give those who contributed to F/NA an opportunity to learn more.

Another thing: NO MORE OCs UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. I need to get myself back on track.

Speaking of OCs, I owe an apology to Vegeta the 3rd. I promised to include your character in the next chapter, and I have failed to do so. However, the nature of Kishou Sakatori fits in far better in a school setting. Thus, he will make an appearance in the rewrite. That much I can promise.

Alright, enough rambling. I think I imposed enough on you guys. Thank you so much for reading and for sticking with this fic despite my absence. I know it's been a long time (you probably had to reread some of the previous chapters …), and I have no excuses. But if I may be so bold, any information to help improve this fic would be great. Favorite scene, critique (what I did well, what I didn't do so hot in), anything you'd like to see, all of this helps. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

And if you haven't already, please check out F/ZE by Mr. Sparkles. He'd appreciate the traffic.

HeavyValor out.