On the televisions of the world, the news was playing again.

Milly Ashford sat primly before a desk, unsmiling, and cleared her throat. Superimposed to the right of her head was a small file-photo of Empress Nunnally in her ever-present wheelchair, a reference for anyone who didn't know quite what this story was about.

"It has now been confirmed," Milly Ashford said on the televisions of the world, "that Empress Nunnally has suffered critical head trauma and is at his time in a deep coma. Prince Schniezel and the mysterious Zero have now both commented on the matter, confirming what we'd only heard in rumours up until this point."

In his office in Tokyo, Prime Minister Ohgi Kaname sat grimly watching from his high backed chair. He pursed his lips and rubbed at his chin with a hand.

Milly Ashford continued: "The 100th Empress' doctors are saying that it is impossible to predict when she will emerge from her coma, if ever. Truly, this is a tragic occasion for the Empire, and, indeed, the world." Her blue eyes fell momentarily, with sadness, to her notes.

In her bedroom, Kallen Kouzuki paused from writing on a sheet of paper and put her pen down with a slight frown. She picked up the remote and raised the volume on the TV several levels, then set her hands on her knees and leaned forwards.

Milly said: "In the wake of this tragedy, we've been receiving some conflicting information about a possible restructuring of the government. Yesterday, First Prince Schniezel finally made a definitive announcement that will likely be the subject of much heated discussion, in the days to come. We'll show that clip now."

Schniezel appeared, in an exquisite gilded white coat. His usual expression of glacial calm, emanating from his smile and his pale blue eyes, was in place. He said, "I can now confirm to you all, the people of Britannia, that the powers of our monarchy will be undergoing some drastic changes. Myself, members of the House of Lords, and Zero have all conferred at length, over the last few days, on the subject. We have agreed that my dear younger sister, the Lady Nunnally, shall remain the Empress as long as she still lives. While she recovers from this calamity, the governance of Britannia will fall to a Provisional Council, whose members will include myself, a number of peers from the nobility, and Zero."

There was a commotion among the gathered press, a flurry of questions. The name of Zero could be heard to emerge from many mouths, some voicing approval and some indignation. After an effortless pause, Schniezel indicated one of the reporters in the front row, who jumped eagerly into the gap provided for him. He said: "What about Princess Cornelia?"

And Schniezel smiled again. "My dear sister is currently in protest of this new direction; however, she would be welcome at any time to join this new Council with me, if she so chooses."

Another reporter had a chance to speak. She said, earnestly: "A word from Zero, please? Does Zero have anything to say about all this?"

Schniezel glanced off-screen, then nodded graciously and withdrew from the podium with a white-gloved gesture. Zero flowed, tall and sleek, onto the screen from the left. He stood before the podium, placed his black fingers upon it, and spoke: "This is the beginning of the justice that we all have striven for. Nevermore shall a corrupt ruler bend the power of this Empire to his or her will. I am only saddened that Empress Nunnally will not yet witness the implementation of this plan, the adoption of which was her own idea. I am honoured to continue my role as a defender of the innocent, in this new faculty with Prince Schniezel and the Lords of Britannia."

On a hotel bed in Kyushu, the girl, whose only appellation was C.C., stirred and raised her head to look, frowning. The rivers of bright green hair twisted about her as she lazily propped herself upright. Her eyebrows lowered curiously over her placid yellow eyes.

"Zero," another reporter demanded attention, and the black helmet nodded slightly in acknowledgement. The woman continued, "Will Empress Nunnally ever regain consciousness? I mean, realistically? If she does, will she reallocate more powers to her position again?"

Zero's cloaked shoulders squared as he hesitated. "That will be for her to decide. I believe… I have faith that she is strong enough to come through this. And when she does, I believe that she will support the decisions we've made in her absence."

And then Milly Ashford reappeared on the screen and said, a smile managing to return to her face. "Well, this is certainly a new direction for Britannia. But is it the right direction? Please voice your opinions at our website-"

Zealous Shadow was no longer paying attention, in the lounge in Shanghai.

Midday sunlight filtered in through the glass walls, illuminating the silvery city which lay behind him. He sat isolated at the bar, the people who engaged in various activities around the lounge ignoring him. Most of them wore expensive clothing and were beautiful. Most of them were from Britannia-the lounge was owned by a Chinese business who knew how to bring in the Brits. They flocked to the bar to get drinks and chat up other beautiful people, flashing white smiles and, in the case of the women, lots of carefully tanned skin. Membership here was expensive, but Zealous Shadow was allowed a fairly considerable discount, because he and the owner went way back.

The owner, a man by the name of Xiao Lim, had lived a very eventful life so far. He'd started in medical school as his father and his father's father had. And then, just to make everybody angry, he'd given up on all that to pursue a life of horrible danger, as a mercenary. It was in this unforgiving line of work that Zealous Shad had met him. They had exchanged bullets, and later words, and then still later, improbably, they'd exchanged vows of unbreakable friendship. After, Xiao Lim had retired and started up this place.

Zealous Shad had not retired.

As if to make this point abundantly clear, a man in his early twenties pressed through the crowd of rich drunk Britannians towards Zealous Shad. This man arrived at Zealous' side, grinned, leaned upon the bar, and produced a hefty brown cigar which he lit with the silver lighter from his shirt pocket. He sat beside Zealous and emitted smoke from his nostrils.

"Thieving," Zealous nodded in greeting, and took a sip of his chai tea.

Thieving Shadow was wiry and sunburned beneath his fitted button-down shirt and denim trousers. A pair of mirrored silver shades obscured the eyes which Zealous knew were a cold blue. Thieving's short hair curled luxuriously and was brown. He was flagrantly in violation of the dress code but was not concerned with such things. He returned Zealous' nod and attracted the attention of the vest-clad Chinese barman.

"Sinkiang Black, from the tap," Thieving said, and the barman nodded.

Zealous Shad turned to Thieving Shad. He was a slightly larger man than Thieving, but no stronger. He was twenty-two. His hair was black, short, and ignorant of gravity. He said, "What's the word?"

"We're good to go," Thieving received his beer atop a flimsy coaster, took a long sip. "Five hours."

Zealous' dark eyebrows raised. "Five hours? To deploy in Vladivostok?" He stood from the bar, quaffed his tea, and flicked a piece of lint from his jacket. He waited, as Thieving took another languid drink. Zealous said, presently. "Is this really the time to be drinking?"

"Sure," Thieving made a shrug. "It's, what? A two hour flight?"

"Two and a bit."

Thieving waved a hand dismissively. "We got time."

Zealous blinked, one eyebrow cocked. He said, "What about the pre-runs? The new energy fillers? Ammo?"

Beer continued to disappear down Thieving's throat. "Don't worry about it," he placated. "They're taking care of it."

"And Excalibur's new float system?"

Thieving scowled. "That thing cost way too much…"

"Is it working?" Zealous wanted to say 'this time?', but refrained.

"Yeah."

Zealous Shad paused for a long moment, motionlessly observing the other man. They had known each other for a long time. Thieving was careless but not dangerously so. Zealous' shoulders twitched in a minimal shrug, as he sat back down and ordered another chai tea.

Seven hours later, Zealous Shad hung in the command chair of a Knightmare Frame, approaching the broken Russian coastline. He and Thieving were being supplied with dropships for this one, by their client, which made matters more expedient, but he always felt a little uneasy around rented air transport. He didn't know the pilots, had no way of insuring that they stuck around to fly him back again. And he had to presume that they weren't going to just drop he and Thieving into the ocean from ten thousand feet.

Well, if that were the case, the float system would negate his problems (if it worked this time). But Thieving's custom Sutherland wasn't equipped with the device.

Squashing his misgivings, Zealous engaged the Excalibur's view screens and was rewarded with a birds-eye view of the Sea of Japan, crawling by past below him. A million points of sunlight glinted off the waves.

Thieving's voice crackled in his headset. "Okay, show time. We got five minutes until 'feet dry'. Let's run it through."

Zealous clicked his mic in response, as he brought up his computer systems and began a pre-run check.

"Okay," Thieving said indulgently. "Our target is a rebel convoy scheduled to move from the waterfront inland at approximately five PM, V.L.A.T."

Zealous glanced at Excalibur's digital clock and saw that it was off-he'd forgotten to change from Chinese time. He did so now.

Thieving continued: "The convoy is transporting sakuradite smuggled straight out of Japan, so watch those trucks when they go off. Our client, the independent state of Primorsky Krai, wishes to not have that stuff find its way into components for rebel Knightmares-don't blame 'em, frankly."

Zealous glanced up. The coast loomed ahead, starkly, the grey of rock encrusted with the deep green of foliage. The port city, Vladivostok, lay nestled upon the Shkota Peninsula, a thick finger of land which extended out into the Sea of Japan. Zealous could already see the cloud of smoke which rose from a thousand or more fires in the hotly contested city. Vladivostok was now more or less owned by the rebels, and they were busily putting its factories to work on Knightmare Frames and other weapons of war to use against the government of the Krai. The smog which rose from the city was of two parts: the first part was the smoke from the forest of spire-like chimneys, hard at work. The second smoke was from the fighting, and the fires which raged out of control in some parts of the city.

Thieving spoke as they drew closer. "The rebel paintjob is a red hammer, got it? Client says we're looking for three to seven armoured trucks, with light vehicular escort. They should be departing from the direction of Golden Horn Bay. Eyes open."

They came in low above the waterfront, the dropship pilots weaving nimbly around the huge steel cranes. Dust plumed up from the concrete as they came in for the drop, the metal arms tilting their bipedal cargo into a vertical position. And then they braked hard and released the clamps. Zealous felt freefall in his gut for a split second and then Excalibur's feet hit the ground and the legs flexed, absorbing the impact. He felt a familiar dawning giddiness, as he became accustomed to the loose fluidity of the power he now had at his disposal, the precise twitch based handling of a Knightmare Frame. There was nothing quite like it.

A flick of his wrist swivelled the torso and he saw Thieving's black Sutherland giving him a look. The Sutherland was an out of date model, but Thieving's real gift was infantry combat anyway. He was a passable Knightmare pilot, but not exceptional.

The Sutherland's land spinners snapped down, kicking up a plume of dust from the concrete wharf. Zealous engaged his own, and said: "Lead on, Boss."

They skated across the waterfront, leaving dust trails and furrows of crushed asphalt. When they arrived at the designated interception point, they found nothing. An ancient Japanese cargo vessel, massive and rusting, loomed alone beside the pier. Thieving decided that their quarry must have left early, and so the two Knightmares set off in the direction of the factories the rebels had appropriated. The city was, for all intents and purposes, deserted. Many of the buildings were burning or had been reduced to rubble.

They decided that Zealous would get a bird's eye view, so he reluctantly engaged the Excalibur's float system, which warmed up with a low hum. Then he lifted into the air and came to rest on top of a short apartment building, accidentally crushing some air-conditioning units. He activated the factsphere and gave the area a scan with his radar, and came up with unidentifiable contacts to the north. He flicked his telescopic zoom on and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. In the narrow streets ahead, dark forms made movement. His image focused, and he saw a flash of red on the black shoulder of a Frame, as it ducked behind a building. The red hammer.

"Enemy contact," he told Thieving. Then he started in surprise as his external microphones picked up a sharp crack from behind him. He swivelled, saw Thieving's slash-harken embedded into the wall. The Sutherland clambered up onto the roof beside him and began readying its weapon, the HX750 anti-Knightmare long rifle.

"Go engage them," Thieving told him. "I'll provide support."

Zealous disapproved. "Visibility's bad from this spot."

"I'm not done climbing yet," Thieving chuckled. He pivoted, and his slash-harken departed again in a puff of smoke. Zealous turned to look: Thieving had harpooned another building, this one much taller. The Sutherland swung off the roof and impacted the side of the taller building, shattering windows, then began to scale the side.

Zealous turned and dropped off the roof. The float system carried him gently to the ground, and he set off towards the enemy Knightmare he'd spotted in the streets.

Thieving spoke in his headset. "Much better up here. I'll be your eyes. I'm gonna patch my factsphere report to yours."

And suddenly a cluster of red blips appeared on Zealous' screen, some ways to the north. After a slight delay they began to identify themselves. Thieving narrated. "Those are our sakuradite trucks all right. I count two APCs and three Knightmare escorts. Makes things trickier-I wish we had good intel for once. You're almost on 'em. The street parallel to you, about four blocks up."

Zealous slowed as he approached, sidling up beside a building. He leaned out around the corner, took a peek. The Knightmares looked like nothing more than Glasgows with paintjobs, though he supposed it would pay to be cautious. There were five sakuradite trucks, big green army ones, with canvases drawn over their cargo.

"Cover your eyes," Thieving said, and Zealous though, blankly, why?

But then from within the formation of vehicles came a flash of light that hurt his eyes, even as he squinted and shied away, and the sound reached him through the headphones as a burst of loud static. One of the sakuradite trucks erupted into a violent blast and scattered pieces of itself bouncing in all directions. The Knightmares whirled about even as wreckage battered them, seeking the source of the shot.

Zealous took a look at the tall building Thieving had scaled, and saw a puff of smoke drifting off it-from the longrifle, he assumed-and then the enemy saw the same thing and opened fire, 10mm tracers streaking past to chew at the walls of Thieving's tower. Zealous whirled around the corner and let go with the slash-harkens, piercing the torso of one of the Glasgows. He engaged the float system and drifted around the corner, then reeled the slash-harken in, pulling himself towards the enemy. He shoulder-slammed the Glasgow he'd harpooned, throwing it off its feet, then swivelled and filled the second one with chattering SMG fire, perforating the cockpit with fire-edged holes. The mech lurched to one side, dying, and collapsed helpfully on top of one of the APCs.

Two of the trucks had crashed into each other. Zealous sent the Excalibur streaking backwards in midair, to get out of the blast zone. He was about to hit them with a slash-harken, then realized he might not get it back if he did. So he strafed the trucks with bullets, averted his gaze, and was rewarded with a titanic explosion that reduced the walls of the nearest buildings on either side of the street to rubble, and consumed the Glasgow he'd body-slammed.

"Two trucks left," Thieving told him. "Got ahead of the others-I don't have line of sight. That last Glasgow is hiding somewhere, too, so watch yourself."

And then, even as Zealous was about to ask about the second APC, he heard the long rifle explode again with a booming roar that echoed over the city, and he saw the vehicle disintegrate into a cloud of flying twisted metal and dirt.

Zealous flew straight up and alighted on the nearest building, some kind of office centre, hoping to get a shot at the last two trucks. He spotted them, trundling off down a side street, and was about to fire when he heard the whizzing of a slash-harken and saw that the last Glasgow had followed him up. The enemy mech closed in rapidly and tried to gut him with an MVS knife. Zealous whirled aside and triggered both slash-harkens, but the enemy deflected one with his knife and evaded the other. When the Glasgow reached for its assault rifle, Zealous closed in and knocked the weapon aside. They spun and clashed together in close combat, upon the small area of the roof.

Then Zealous remembered that he had floats, and swept sideways from the roof and hung in the air, preparing to simply shoot the other mech. The Glasgow, seeing this turn of events, sent a slash-harken towards him, no doubt intending to either drag him back or be carried into the air along with him. Just as Zealous was becoming intrigued by this move, the long rifle roared again, and the shell ripped into the abdomen of the Glasgow and split it in two, the torso toppling from the lower body amid a rain of shattered metal.

"Just when it was getting interesting," Zealous commented, and vaulted higher into the sky. He acquired the two final sakuradite trucks where they were flooring it down the narrow gap between a bombed out mall and a crumbling bank. He gave Excalibur a surge of speed and streaked toward them, roofs flashing by close below him. He imagined the grim spectacle that he must appear in their rear-view windows.

Then, just as he was about to chew them up with the SMG, he saw the first truck slam on its brakes and screech to a jerky halt. The cab doors were flung open, and two figures scrambled out and bolted for cover. The second truck rammed its fender, clumsily, into the rear of the first, and its operators, realizing the wisdom of their comrades, also abandoned their vehicle. Zealous waited a few moments until it seemed like no one else was left inside the trucks. Then he squared the first one in his crosshairs and let off a burst of SMG fire. The shells ripped into the canvas, leaving one, two, three gaping holes, and then both trucks erupted in a blinding pinkish flare that covered the whole street. Windows and walls in the adjacent buildings plumed outwards and scattered on the road.

"That's it," Thieving confirmed, "we're RTB. All hostiles accounted for. Congrats and condolences for a job well done."

Zealous' faith in his float system was by now pretty much restored. He flew over to Thieving's building, but didn't deign to set foot on it beside the black Sutherland. He hovered before the brink and watched Thieving prepare the slash-harkens for his descent.

"Having fun, are you?" Thieving said ruefully, as he swung over the side and began to rappel down to the ground.

"I'm flying," said Zealous, following the Sutherland's progress down the building from a few meters back. "What do you think?"

They congregated on the street and skated towards the extraction point, near the waterfront. Zealous gave the floats a rest and utilized his land spinners. While it was a joy to fly, the sheer agility of a Knightmare Frame, on land, was also inspiring. And there were obstacles to dodge or leap over, or run right through.

As they went towards the waiting dropships, Zealous checked his Yggdrasil drive, noting that he was only at about sixty percent power. The operation had been very short, yet the use of the floats had undoubtedly drained energy a bit faster than usual.

Their rides awaited them faithfully.

After the pick-up, it was the two hour flight back again to Shanghai, hanging face to ground through the evening. By the time they arrived at eleven or twelve at night, Chinese time, Zealous had managed to get a little sleep. When he awoke, the lights of the city were reflected, warping, in the black water. And then they descended towards their landing site. The pilots dropped them off, said curt farewells, and flew off to their own horizons. Zealous and Thieving stomped into their rented hangar.

Zealous powered down the view screens and computer, yawning, then opened the cockpit and disembarked. Once on the ground he hit the remote lock on his key, and Excalibur's hatch slid closed and sealed itself. He and Thieving took care of a couple pieces of business in the hangar, like connecting energy fillers and doing a quick walk around, then left. They stopped by the office to sign a bit of paperwork for the army secretary, said hello to a couple of people they knew, and left.

Mercenaries were frequently employed by the Chinese Federation. Space on the army's bases could be rented out, provided one had the proper licences and documentation. Contracts for clients other than the Chinese Federation invariably had to make their way through the head office, to make sure none of the mercenaries were being employed against them, of course.

Zealous and Thieving had been around, though. This arrangement with the Chinese authorities was sort of a new thing, and perhaps temporary. The Russian regions were a gold mine for war profiteers, and so right now China was essentially the place to be for mercenary work. The government was accommodating, and China was a hub to other hotspots. Thieving had his finger on the pulse of a black market which spanned the globe: he knew people all over the war industry-which was where their airborne transport for today had come from. They'd even seen work in that uprising in Japan, a couple years back: Britannia never employed mercenaries, of course, but the Black Knights had been looking for help. Someone let Thieving know, and Thieving said they were interested. Not much had ever come of it, though. One or two simple operations, maybe. Working with freedom fighters was aggravating: they were always hoping to convert you to their cause. Governments had no such illusions about their mercenaries.

With Britannia's troops withdrawn from all the Areas in the last year or so, an all time high for the war economy had come about. All the factions itching to get each other bloody were now free to do so, and the ones with money usually loved to spend it on expensive foreign specialists.

They called a taxi and took it to their condominium beside the river Bund. They ascended the elevator, slouching in silence. Thieving's silver sunglasses were back. They unlocked the place, went in. Zealous muttered something about the night being good, and then went into his room and became unconscious.

Zealous Shadow awoke the next morning and took a long shower. He dressed, drank some coffee, and then discovered that Thieving had left already. So Zealous went about his daily business, strode down a few streets. He picked up some dim sum. Then he went, inevitably, to the lounge, and nodded to the girl at the door who knew his face well by this time.

It was morning, and the lounge was almost empty. Xiao Lim was wandering about the establishment hollering at his subordinates when he suddenly espied Zealous Shad and came over to him.

"Zee," Xiao Lim said with a wide grin showing a couple of crooked teeth. He was in his sixties, his wispy greying hair getting thin. "What's up? Good op?"

Zealous shrugged with his teeth bared in a crooked grin. "Yeah."

Xiao Lim clapped a hand on Zealous' shoulder. "You kill anybody?"

Zealous' lips closed on each other. "Sure."

But Xiao Lim was already walking away, chuckling. "Sit down, sit down." he indicated the stool, and Zealous obliged. "Chai tea, right?" Zealous nodded. Xiao Lim came around the bar. "I'll make it myself."

In this manner he and Xiao Lim chilled in each other's company for a while, until the patronage of the place got a little more dense and Xiao Lim was called away. Some time after that, Zealous received a text message on his cell phone, from Thieving Shad, indicating that they had received their money for the recent job.

The days proceeded like this, Zealous haunting the lounge and other favoured spots about the old city, living without difficulty. At night, he and Thieving would sometimes go off to bars or strip clubs. Every now and then, the ambiance of their dwelling would be accentuated by the presence of a woman, or two, or sometimes more. They came and went. It was a meditative style of existence, and Zealous was comfortable with it. He was entirely at ease. He spent his time being Zealous Shadow, and exalting in all of the things which this entailed, like chai tea and moonlit wandering.

One night he was taking a night-time walk along the Bund, with a Cantonese girl he'd met a couple of days ago, when his phone buzzed against his thigh. Normally in this situation Zealous would ignore the call, but a quick visual inspection showed that it was Thieving who hailed him. Zealous excused himself and answered.

He listened for a couple of seconds and then said, "You're kidding. A million?"

The girl perked up, and Zealous smiled at her.

Then he said, to Thieving, "Definitely. Better start packing."

What had happened was this: Thieving had received a call from an unknown person. This person was interested in putting together a small crew of specialists in order to undertake an operation. The nature of the operation was not known to them, nor was the identity of the client who required their services.

However, the importance of the operation was such that, as a demonstration of goodwill, this person had already given them a down payment of one million , each. Zealous' estate had just been doubled. And the unknown client had promised, upon completion of the mission, a further twenty million to each of them, as well as all of the expenses required to complete the objective. Whatever that objective might be.

They merely had to meet with their client and decide if the mission were worth the money. Therefore, Zealous and Thieving began preparations to ship all of their equipment, and themselves, to the newly declared nation of Japan.