Hey everybody this is JDCT. I haven't uploaded anything new in a while, but now I have a freshly completed chapter for you all. I'm not normally big on author-reader interaction, but I found it very helpful to read the reviews that Continued Story has been getting, so from now on I'm planning to be more present.

1267223 mentioned that I should answer questions, make notes, and things of that nature, so I guess I shall.

I know it's been a long time since the last chapter but, in fact, I sat down the other day and realized that I had planned out about twenty chapters in my head for this story. It will probably be going on for a while. I have been busy with school and other writing projects, but I hope to have a new chapter done roughly once a week for this one (if possible).

So go ahead and ask questions: henceforth they'll be (probably) answered.

Anyway. Almost on to the chapter. Firstly, though, I'm going to answer a couple questions from AlsoSprachOdin. (who I hope is still around, I know it's been a while since the last chapter)

Q) Windows and walls in the adjacent buildings plumed outwards". That only happens if you break them from the inside, right?

A) True, but since the trucks were full of Sakuradite, I figured it might be interesting if the explosion were sort of FLEIJA-esque. I reasoned that since the FLEIJA obliterates 'everything', there might be a vacuum, so once the windows were shattered they'd fall outwards. Didn't really think it through, frankly, but at the time it seemed cool.

Q) Good one about despair, and the failed attempt at starvation was a very good idea too, although there was no mention of water, which Suzaku would have died without in three days. And... there's no toilet?

A) Haha no excuse for that one, except that I didn't look the chapter over enough. Yes, indeed, you're right. I'll probably go back and make things more sensible.

Q) You might want to consider using some page breaks instead of simply writing "x hours later".

A) I've gotten used to writing in a sort of minimalist style, at least in terms of devices not relating to actual text. It's intended to leave things as uninterrupted as possible, instead of broken like 'scenes' in a movie. The characters experience things without interruption. I also write using only one 'point-of-view' per chapter. It's intended to be immersive, I guess.

Well then. Without further ado, here's the new chapter.

4

They flew into Nagasaki Airport through a light rain. From the window seat Zealous could see lightning flashing in the distance of the night, out over the Sea of Japan. The cabin lights came on and they stood hauling their carry-on packs out of overhead storage. They travelled light these days--a dangerous mix-up in Heathrow had long dissuaded them from storing luggage below.

They disembarked the plane amid a crowd of yawning travellers, who all squinted at the harsh fluorescent light in the terminal. They dispersed, most going towards the luggage conveyors. Zealous and Thieving mounted an escalator to the second level, where fast food resided in neon-bedecked units, each tiny yet preposterously expensive for a potential businessman. At least-that was what Zealous had expected from his last visit, the traditional stock of Britannian fast food franchises. What he actually found, as they topped the escalator, was a place in transition. The identical steel-framed tables and chairs, which stood beside the guard-rail overlooking the terminal floor-these were the same as before. But many of the fast-food places had been closed: only two remained, a sushi bar and a Japanese burger place. All of the Britannian franchises were gone.

He supposed that was to be expected. He hadn't really kept himself informed, but word had reached him that, apparently, Prime Minister Kaname had recently begun a campaign to reform Japanese culture. Many of the Britannians had fled during a mass exodus. He hadn't really paid attention to the ordeal-he'd been in Sudan at the time.

It was two in the morning, Japan Standard Time, a huge LCD display proudly announced. Yet another of the plethora of minute changes implemented since Japan's emancipation. Zealous had never heard the term Japan Standard Time used in his own lifetime. In any event, this meant it was late, and so he and Thieving were alone on the promenade, but for the two fast food workers, who presently left their battlements to share a platter of maki at a nearby table.

Zealous ate his own rolls while Thieving bit into a cheeseburger, lip curling in distaste. He said, "This is a crappy burger."

Zealous gave a sagacious shake of his head. "Always get the local food. With the Brit investors gone, nobody knows how to make a burger anymore. Way it should be, if you ask me."

Thieving grimaced and dropped a limp strip of pickle to his tray. "Well, I'm not about to eat live fish."

"Raw," Zealous frowned. "Raw fish."

"Whatever."

By the time they left the terminal, the storm had caught up with them. Rain fell straight downwards inside the cones of orange lamp light. They hailed a taxi and crossed the distance between the doors and it with a minimum of soakage. A Japanese face loomed out of the darkness of the front seat.

"Where to, guys?" he asked with a flat Britannian accent.

They had a reservation for that night at a nearby hotel. Thieving Shad said, "the ANA Hotel, Gloverhill."

The drive was just over an hour. Zealous sat in stillness with his forehead against the cool of the window. From time to time he would turn and observe Thieving, who had mastered the art of sleeping at any conceivable moment and in any position. Currently the man's mouth was open and his eyes were concealed behind shades: from time to time his head would lose equilibrium and would swoop forward in a nod, inevitably settling again against his headrest. Zealous was fairly certain that Thieving was asleep throughout the whole process, but with the sunglasses on it was difficult to tell.

Zealous had never been able to sleep so easily, and besides, watching Thieving kept him moderately amused. He also watched the night-blanketed sights of Nagasaki scroll by. They were on the outskirts of the old Britannian settlement, in an area which could loosely be described as countryside. The towns were smallish and the streets wide. The old city hadn't suffered to the extent that Tokyo had during the occupation, had remained mostly intact. Zealous recalled that the hotel they were going to had been renamed and taken over by the Britannians, had been nicely preserved, largely due to the fact that it had been built in emulation of European establishments. Now that the Japanese government had encouraged and even subsidized in-house businesses, the hotel was Japanese owned again.

The ride ended presently. Thieving paid the driver and they embarked across a short distance through what had become a downpour. They crossed a covered stretch of concrete, then entered the lobby through a quaint revolving door. The lobby was ornate beyond what Zealous Shad had expected: the floors were of a speckled, polished marble. Complicated chandeliers hung, fountain-like, from a wood-panelled ceiling.

Droplets of water pattered from their coats and meagre luggage onto the floor, as they crossed it. They approached the long counter of polished wood, behind which stood a red-vested receptionist. Zealous noted that a row of analog clocks lined the wall, each for a different major time-zone; this an immediately recognizable sign of an airport hotel. They verified their reservation, received a dazzling smile from the woman, and left her company. They ascended a gently curving stairwell to a carpeted second floor, where ranks of elevators awaited. They chose one, went up to the fifth floor, disembarked, and went in search of their room. Zealous unlocked the door with a card key, and they went in, already kicking off shoes and strewing extraneous pieces of luggage and clothing in the entranceway.

Thieving had a shower while Zealous lay on one of the beds, reading a book. When Thieving emerged, some minutes later, a bank of steam followed him. He padded across the carpet to his bedside, with a white towel fastened below his wiry upper body, then sat and collected his phone from the end table and flipped it open.

Zealous raised a questioning dark eyebrow, gaze lifting from his book.

"Yeah," Thieving said. "Apparently this mystery client is on his way here."

"Here, Nagasaki?"

"No," said Thieving, and extended a finger at the floor. "Here, this hotel. He says he'll be arriving for tomorrow evening, we can meet in person then. A 6:30 reservation at the restaurant downstairs."

"If you ask me," said Zealous, "it's gonna be something weird. For this kind of cash, it's got to be something crazy."

Thieving clawed at his bare shoulder while glancing away thoughtfully. His curling brown hair was damp from the shower. "I'm not about to speculate. We'll see tomorrow."

They sat around listlessly for a while, saying little. Presently Zealous Shad stood placing his book face down on the bedcovers, and went to the sliding glass doors at the rear of their room. He drew the heavy curtains aside, slid the doors open, and went out to the balcony and the night time air. He briefly eyed the glowing half-moon.

Thieving, having hatched a plan, was already following him out on bare feet, a cigar between his fingers. He leaned against the black handrail while biting the end off, then spit it from the balcony. He produced his silver lighter and lit the cigar, then puffed on it. The wind blew calmly, and the lights of the town glowed warmly below.

Zealous said, "You know anything about this city?"

Thieving released a cloud of smoke and responded: "Capitol of the Taranis Province? No real-"

"Actually…" Zealous began to interrupt.

Thieving corrected himself with a wave of his cigar. "Right; with the Britannians gone they're not provinces any more, they're back to being… what was it, prefectures?"

Zealous nodded.

"Did they keep they name Taranis?"

"No," said Zealous, "Nagasaki Prefecture."

Thieving snorted. "That's convenient. Or lazy." He grinned and blew out another cloud of smoke. "So Nagasaki is capitol of the Nagasaki, uh, prefecture. No real historical importance. Sort of got missed by the Black Rebellion and all that nonsense. Never been attacked outright, by the Britannians or by terrorists. Far as I know, it's been the same since the Edo period."

Zealous nodded with a widening smile. "Nice town."

Thieving shrugged, then nodded.

After Thieving finished his cigar, he flicked it over the side and they returned to the room. They lay on their beds and watched the news on the television. Nothing seemed to be stirring in Japan. Prime Minister Ohgi Kaname was the center of attention in almost everything, it seemed. He seemed to be enjoying a lot of feverish loyalty, Zealous mused. The Japanese people were so caught up in their patriotism at being emancipated, that Kaname could do no wrong in their eyes. That he was Japanese was enough to buy him the love of every former Eleven in the country. And some Britannians had stayed in the country as well. The news did a story on that, briefly, documenting the Japanese and Britannians who lived together in harmony. Everything seemed well and good.

Thieving, reclining in bed, said, "You know, I met Kaname once. Back when he was still with the Black Knights."

"I remember that," Zealous nodded. "He was our contact, though we never worked for them again."

Thieving said, with a frown, "Hey, I don't suppose he could be our client, huh?"

Zealous turned an incredulous look across the gulf betweenthe beds. "The Prime Minister? Texting you about a job?"

"A job worth twenty-one million or so," Thieving pointed out. "He's got the cash."

"And an army, too," Zealous laughed. "So I don't suppose he'd have much use for two soldiers of fortune."

Thieving grunted and shrugged. There seemed to be no point in further speculation. They turned off the TV, the lights, then slept.

They spent the next day browsing through the town. They rode buses and looked at old buildings. Urakami Cathedral was of particular interest to Zealous; as he prowled its vast interior, Thieving lurked alone upon a long wooden pew and had to be asked by the priest to put out his cigar. The Cathedral dated back to the late 1800s, Zealous had read; it had been built by the Hidden Christians shortly after the ban on Christianity was lifted. Urakami had been untouched and was one of the few historical spots in Japan which the Britannians had not renamed during their occupation. Texts in actual Japanese script, which Zealous had never seen in person before, lay about the church. He wondered if there were many Japanese people left who still knew how to read their old language. During the Britannian occupation, no Japanese language or writing had been taught in schools. Surely the priests at Urakami had at least an understanding of the kanji in their ancient books.

Zealous Shad wished to consult further with the priests at Urakami, but the hour was growing later and Thieving was growing impatient now that he was disallowed from putting burning things in his mouth.

They returned to the Hotel as the sun was sinking into the west. It was nearing dinner-time, and Thieving was ravenous, it seemed. Zealous had tried to convince him to eat takoyaki from a street vendor, but upon learning that it was octopus he became opposed to the thought.

Thieving still seemed taken with the idea that it might be the Prime Minister of Japan who was going to be meeting them in the hotel restaurant, and Zealous hadn't the patience to dissuade him of it. To that end, Thieving dressed himself in a nice grey suit overtop a black shirt, and mourned that he had left his ties in Shanghai. Zealous just grimaced in amusement and tugged on his finest, in order to humour his friend.

They meandered through the halls as the appointed hour neared. In the descending elevator, Thieving's silver shades lowered as he lifted his phone from his pocket and checked a text message. "Ah, that's convenient," he said as he flipped the phone closed and stuffed it back into his pocket.

Zealous said, "What is?"

"He sent me the name of our reservation," Thieving said. "Hamako."

Zealous frowned slightly. The elevator doors split and they exited, then went down the sweeping stairs. They followed the signs to the restaurant, and at the entrance were met by a well-dressed server. Thieving told him the name they were reserved under and she led them inside, navigating past folded rice-paper barriers of the kind Zealous had seen in old samurai movies. He also instantly noted that the tables were all at roughly knee-level and that the chairs were engineered in a kind of modern/ancient fusion. It was apparent that one was supposed to sit cross-legged on a flat cushion with a chair-like backing. Zealous had never seen anything like it before. He hoped, vaguely, that Thieving would not cause some form of ruckus.

"Here you are, Sirs," the server bowed politely with a smile and indicated their table and its lone occupant, nestled into a corner of the establishment. The server arranged two more menus on the table, then two sets of packaged chopsticks, then bowed again and retreated. The woman at the table looked up from perusing her menu and blinked with boredom at Zealous and Thieving.

They stared.

The first thing that Zealous had noticed was her hair, which was bright green and apparently waist-length. The second thing he noticed was her beauty, for she was stunning even to he who had sampled the beauties of the world. Her skin was smoothly pale like a Britannian woman's, and her face was pretty with a kind of disinterested calm. The irises hovering in her eyes were yellow.

After a pause, and having glanced both of them over, the girl said, "Yes?"

Thieving cleared his throat. "You're Hamako?"

She didn't answer but instead asked, as she folded her menu closed, "You're Zealous Shadow?" Then she looked at Zealous. "And Thieving Shadow?"

"Other way around," Zealous smiled.

"Sit down, then," she negligently indicated the chair-like contraptions at her left and right. Zealous took a seat next to her, fumbling for his menu as he snuck an appraising glance at the girl, seeking a better image of what she looked like. Thieving had flopped into the seat across from him and was thrashing about as he tried to heave his cushion closer in to the table. Thieving shot Zealous a brief, smug look, and then both of them turned back to the girl, who was again embroiled in her menu.

Thieving stretched and shifted, trying to get used to the low seating arrangement. He glanced at the girl, then Zealous. Thieving said, "Wow, I'm getting pretty stiff."

Slowly, Zealous lowered his eyes to the table, closed them, and lifted a palm to smack his forehead in a private expression of his disbelief. But the girl did not seem to notice what Thieving had said. Thieving frowned down at the menu as he ceased in his shifting, and met the amused look that Zealous was sending his way across the table.

"Because I haven't sat cross-legged in a while," Thieving explained and then removed his sunglasses so he could pin Zealous with a dark glare. The both of them turned to watch the girl for a while, and it became apparent their antics were going unnoticed. Thieving shrugged at Zealous.

Zealous cleared his throat, "So, Hamako…"

Her eyes did not appear from behind the menu. "That's not my name."

Thieving brandished a grin, "What's your name?"

Now she lowered the menu to look at him. "You may call me C.C."

Zealous was careful to note that she hadn't said it was her name. Thieving picked up on this subtlety. "But it's not your name…" he mused almost in disappointment, tapping his chin with a finger.

"No. Is your name Thieving Shadow?"

He raised his eyebrows at Zealous, who shrugged. Then Thieving said, "Good point," as a waiter arrived to take their drink orders.

After he had respectfully waited for C.C., Zealous said over his shoulder, "Just water, please," an old habit from times of poverty.

"A bottle of champagne," Thieving commanded, and the waiter went off to fulfill his duties. Upon Thieving's face there blossomed a mischievous smile, his blue eyes sparkling. Zealous knew him well enough that he could, effectively, stare through the front of his skull and watch the lecherous percolations of his mind: he was intending to get this C.C. girl drunk. Zealous somehow had a feeling things would not go according to plan. She seemed too collected.

The evening proceeded onwards in relative silence. Zealous chose a Japanese dish he had never heard of and did not know the contents of, which turned out to be some kind of ginger-glazed salmon with white rice. Thieving rubbed his hands together at the approach of his teriyaki chicken, and C.C. stared morosely down at her bowl of noodles. Already Zealous was ripping open a package of chopsticks and digging in. A corner of his eye was reserved for wondering why C.C. wasn't eating. But then she snagged a waiter on the way by and requested a fork and other western cutlery.

Thieving grinned. Though not of Asian descent, they both were proficient in the use of chopsticks, having lived in China for a long time. Thieving leaned forwards and said, "You know, it would only take a minute to learn to use 'em." He held up his own hand and clicked the ends of the sticks together in demonstration.

"I can use them," C.C. said coolly, "but I find them inconvenient."

Thieving shrugged and returned to his meal. They ate for a while longer, until Zealous, who always ate quickly, finished the last of the rice on his plate and took a sip of water. "So what kind of job are you willing to pay this much for?" He raised an eyebrow at the girl.

She chewed, swallowed, and dabbed at her lips with a napkin, then cleared her throat. Zealous stared expectantly. She said, "I'd rather talk after dinner."

So Zealous sat back and waited for the others to finish eating, taking ponderous sips of ice-water and allowing his imagination to run wild. He had just come to the conclusion that none of what was happening really made any sense, when C.C. put her napkin on the table and asked a passing waiter for the check. After Thieving had confirmed, in glee, that she would be paying for their dinner, they all rose from their low seating arrangement, paid, and left.

"We'll use my room, if you don't mind," said C.C. as they mounted the twisting marble staircase to the elevators. Thieving's lecherous grin returned. He was the only one among them who had actually partaken of the champagne, and he had managed to down a fair bit of it. Zealous might have been worried, but Thieving was excellent at holding liquor. Until a certain point, that is, at which he became literally dangerous to be close to. But this was not that point.

C.C. opened the door of her room and they filed inside. Zealous realized, as he often did when entering women's hotel rooms, that he and Thieving were pigs: there was no clothing strewn about the floor in C.C.'s room. Things were hung on coat-hangers, in the closet and such. The beds were still made. The girl went straight through the room, cast open the sliding doors , and stepped onto the balcony. Zealous and Thieving followed, Thieving already holding an unlit cigar that he must have been carrying in his pocket. She leaned back against the railing of the balcony, her hair trailing over the side, while they came to stand one on either side of her. Zealous stood with crossed arms while Thieving lit the end of his cigar and puffed on it.

C.C. very coolly turned to Thieving and said, "Please put that out."

On apparent reflex, Thieving tossed the freshly-lit cigar over the railing. It fell like a spark through the night. Then, as if suddenly realizing the magnitude of the loss, he stared down after it for a moment of mournful, reflective silence.

"Well," said C.C. as she looked straight ahead and crossed her arms. "I suppose there's no need to be overly mysterious about this. I have hired you both to help me abduct Empress Nunally."

Zealous' eyes widened and he stared. Then he looked at Thieving to gauge his friend's reaction.

Face bearing an expression of feverish contemplation, Thieving instinctively reached into his pocket and drew out another cigar, not seeing the girl's pointed yellow stare. Only when he had got the cigar between his teeth did he suddenly remember himself, snatch it out again, and snort in amazement.

"The Empress of Britannia," he mumbled, as though to himself.

Trying to ignore the fact that this was all very much crazy, Zealous said, "Now would be the time. She's vulnerable--"

Thieving's eyes burned light blue in the glow from the room. "Where is she located?"

"Aries palace in Britannia,' said C.C. immediately, turning to him.

"And what kind of protection does she have?" continued Thieving. He put the cigar back in his mouth, not bothering to light it, and his arms fell to his sides as though the mere presence of it were to be savoured.

"At last check, a squadron of Vincents on the palace grounds, as well as the security measures."

"Such as?"

C.C. shrugged insouciantly. "Perhaps a fifty-man security detail. Motion detectors, pressure sensors, ID scanners, IR cameras, X-rays, auto-track turrets. That kind of thing."

"Twenty million in Britannian dollars?"

"Twenty million," the girl responded flatly.

Zealous scratched his chin, deeply in thought. "And… why do you want to kidnap her? She's practically a figurehead, now--"

The girl interrupted. "You may consider it part of your fee to refrain from asking questions."

Zealous grinned down at her. "I see." Then he laughed. "So! Twelve Vincents. And at least two military bases within a kilometer of Aries."

"One of which was destroyed by the FLEIJA device," C.C. noted.

Zealous scoffed in amusement, then frowned. "So what kind of a team do you have, besides us? Enough to match those twelve Vincents?"

C.C. shook her head, setting the green waterfall of hair swaying back and forth. "No one else right now. Surely you know other such people as yourself, looking for work such as this."

Zealous looked to Thieving, who waved his hand dismissively and turned around to put his hands on the railing, staring far out over the darkening city. Zealous turned back to C.C. and answered for them, explaining: "We don't have a lot of allies anymore. Besides-- well, we can make a few calls, but the fact is that no one will take this job."

C.C.'s pale brow creased in a frown. "Why not? For this much money-"

"That's not the problem," Zealous waved a hand as he interrupted. "Money's useless to a dead man. No one will take the job because it's impossible. In fact it would probably be more profitable to sell you out to the Brits than actually try the job. Let me explain a little better: over the last few years Knightmare development basically exploded. It's been exponential, and private contractors don't have the means to stay competitive against Britannian Knightmares. One Vincent would be too much, probably for as many mercs as you could hire. I hate to admit that at a certain level, skill no longer factors into it. The Vincent is an Eighth Generation Knightmare Frame, late model--"

Thieving interrupted, "Remind me which one the Vincent is?"

"The mass production model of the Lancelot," said Zealous as he turned sidelong to him, "Anyway, those late-model Britannian Frames just aren't for sale. No one has them but the Britannians. I mean, some of the newer mecha out of Asia can match them--Shen-Hu, or that red monster with the Black Knights--but those aren't for sale either."

Thieving perked up, "The Shen-Hu, eh? Maybe we could--"

But Zealous laughed and raised a hand to stop him. "Don't even think it. Money can't buy the kind of soldiers with the kind of equipment to storm Aries. My Knightmare is just a customized Sutherland. Technically Fifth Generation."

"A highly customized Sutherland,' Thieving interjected, clasping his chin in a hand. "I could send an email to Rana and he'll get you a new catalogue. Maybe we could upgrade the floats again, get a shield and some of those energy weapons that just hit the market…"

"Hadron," Zealous shook his head. "No, the reactor can't handle that kind of power. The energy systems are practically overloaded as it is." He turned to C.C. and raised his eyebrows. "Look, if you really want to do this, it might be possible. But we need at least another member. Thieving isn't a great Knightmare pilot and I can't take a squadron alone, even as part of a diversion. We need probably five more Knightmares at the very least. Or one or two very high-end ones with very good operators. But you won't find any mercenaries like that."

Suddenly C.C. bit her lip and looked reluctantly down at the floor of the balcony. "Well, as a last resort…" she said glumly, "I do know someone like that."