Chapter 5 - A Tabletop Tiger

"My Father had a profound influence on me. He was a lunatic."

-Spike Milligan

Saturday, February 6th, 2010 A.T.B., 0900 Hours Tokyo Time

Kururugi Family Compound, Nation of Japan

It was an unusually hot February day. A warm front was passing over, and the sun seemed to be trying to make up for the weeks of cloudy weather that had prevailed throughout January.

Fujimura Taiga wished every February day was like this as she expelled a small spray of cool sweat with a flick of her hair. Returning her (improperly colored) tiger-print shinai to its carrying bag, she plucked at the collar of her slightly-sweaty Hakama in order to allow more air in.

A polite cough caused her to turn and glare at the suited, long-haired man who watched from the Veranda walkway.

"Milady, it's unladylike to expose your body like that," Takasu Sasaki admonished as he pushed his omnipresent sunglasses up the tip of his nose.

"It's impolite to sneak up on people," Taiga snapped in return.

Sasaki looked a little pained.

"Forgive me, Milady, but the Oyabun specified that you be studying at this time." I wouldn't bother otherwise, he left unsaid. The daughter of the "father," or Oyabun, of the Fujimura Group, was referred to as the "Tabletop Tiger" for good reason.

"The old man can specify what he wants," Taiga grumbled, "but he can't control me like this."

Yeah, nobody can, Sasaki thought to himself. If there was anything Sasaki had learned in his time with Raiga and Taiga Fujimura, it was that the sun would sooner rise in the west before a Fujimura changed his or her mind.

Nevertheless, he had a duty to the Oyabun, as kobun[1] to watch over his daughter in his absence.

"Milady, please come inside. We are at war, you know," he suggested in a tone he hoped didn't sound as imploring as it did to him.

Miraculously, Taiga sighed in what sounded like resignation. "Half the JSDF is outside Tokyo," she muttered as she stepped onto the veranda. Sasaki tried not to let his surprise and elation show. "And what about Suzaku and his Britannian friend? Why are they outside?"

Sasaki grimaced. As far as he was concerned, the Prime Minister's son and the political hostage from Britannia had nothing to do with his job.

"I'm sure they are being attended to by the other servants."

"Yeah alright," Taiga scoffed. "If I know Suzaku, he's probably lost the housekeepers already…"

"Come on, I know you can do it!"

No, I really can't, Lelouch Lamperouge thought to himself as he clung to the edge of the abyss. He could feel his strength sapping away as he desperately tried to pull himself over the edge. Forced to bear the full weight of a human body, his fingers ached in protest.

With a desperate surge of strength, Lelouch pulled as hard as he could with his shaking forearms. For just a moment, the green horizon flashed before him, and he stretched his hand out to grab it—and then clenched on empty air as, overtaxed, his other arm gave way.

So it ends like this.

In flashes, Lelouch remembered that day at the Imperial palace, and of the sister who was waiting for him.

At the end, I couldn't even avenge my mother or protect my sister.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes in regret as he reached out into space.

…I'm sorry, Nunnally…

And a hand tightened around his arm, pulling him upwards with inhuman strength.

With a gasp, he felt the cool touch of the grass in front of him as, opening his eyes, he looked up at his savior.

Suzaku Kururugi sighed with a cheerful smile as he yanked Lelouch to his feet. "You're really bad at this, you know?"

"No, you're just inhuman," Lelouch replied through gasps as he straightened up.

"Most humans would be able to climb a four-foot overhang," Suzaku sighed as he leapt down the small rock overhang. Just to reinforce his point, he scrambled up the rock face with his usual simian dexterity.

"I could have died," Lelouch muttered.

Suzaku's only response was an airy laugh.

Such was the heartlessness of Suzaku Kururugi, that he would rather risk the life of his best friend on a daily basis than stay inside for a sensible game of chess.

Lelouch regarded his best friend between gasps. To be honest, he was not even sure why he was friends with this monster of a boy. If there were two exact opposites, they would have to be Lelouch Lamperouge and Suzaku Kururugi. Where Lelouch's dark hair was straight and tidy, Suzaku's inexplicably brown hair was wild and tangled, only given an impression of tidiness through liberal application of water and a comb. Where Lelouch preferred the civilized indoors, Suzaku had an untameable, almost-brutish obsession with the savage wild of the Kururugi Residence's gardens.

Yet if there were anyone Lelouch knew would be behind him when things went bad, it would be Suzaku.

As Lelouch looked down at the nearly five-foot embankment, he realized that their friendship was the only reason he embarked on these mad, danger-filled adventures.

If Suzaku was willing to follow him into the valley of death, how could he not do the same?

"Let's climb that tree next," Suzaku suggested with his usual carefree grin.

Lelouch sighed. Friendship was a painful thing.

And then something caught his eye.

In the distance, the vast monolith of Mount Fuji reared up into the sky as it always had, a sight Lelouch had long since gotten used to.

Yet the mountain was now marred by countless black dots, like a crowd of flies around the world's biggest turd.

"…huh?" It appeared Suzaku had noticed as well, as he, too, turned around to stare at the black shapes that dotted the mountain.

Lelouch Lamperouge clenched his teeth.

So this was what you meant when you said I was a dead man?

Turning around, Lelouch began to walk back.

"Suzaku, let's go."

Suzaku turned, surprised with the speed at which Lelouch walked.

Usually you can't even motivate him to get out of the house.

"Wait, what? For what?"

And then, with a gout of flame, a plume of smoke rose up on the horizon.

"To protect Nunnally."

Saturday, February 6th, 2010 A.T.B., 100 Hours Pendragon Imperial Time

Tudor Imperial Airport

Built twenty years ago, Tudor Imperial Airport was meant to convey the majesty of the Britannian Empire. Full of dramatic arches, scenic fountains and largely pointless gardens, the palace, exclusively used by the Imperial Family and High Nobility, was meant to be a place for press conferences, grand galas and pomp.

Today, though, the airstrip was nearly deserted. Even the usual Imperial Guardsmen were absent, relegated to guarding the perimeter.

"You don't' like this place," V.V. observed as he walked through the empty halls, flanked by his two immortal guardians, almost like a child in front of his parents.

"The Architecture is pretentious and shallow, and the paintings are pandering imitations of more accomplished artists. There is not an ounce of sincerity in this building," Emperor Charles Zi Britannia replied. Escorted only by Geass Directorate officials, the Emperor did not make any attempt to hide his dislike of the building.

"Not unlike its architect," V.V. noted with a smile. When Tudor Corporation had constructed the airport in honor of the 97th Emperor, vowing their loyalty to him, a loyalty that had quickly evaporated when things went badly. When Charles had emerged as emperor, they had tried to build an airport for him too. Charles nationalized the company.

"If there's one thing I've learned as Emperor," Charles remarked, "it's that more and more people will lie to you the higher you go in life."

"Something I will not have to worry about," V.V. replied as he looked up at Charles' towering figure, still well-built even into his sixties.

Charles laughed—not a barking, mirthful laugh, but one that was just barely enough to convey his amusement. "Brother, I sometimes wonder if you should have waited some time before taking that code from that madwoman. You missed out on a lot."

"Brother, it's difficult to imagine a better life when women you don't know buy you ice cream," V.V. retorted with a laugh.

Walking silently behind V.V., Nalika Sarasvati watched V.V. out of the corner of her eye. This was, after all, a side of the Immortal that she or Uryu rarely saw. For once, the grin on that boy's face was not his usual, mocking smirk, but a smile that genuinely carried warmth.

V.V. was a boy of many betrayals—after all, that was how Nalika had obtained her Code of Geass, through the betrayal of the old Geass Directorate.

At this moment, surrounded by Geass Directorate men, V.V. could kill Charles with a snap of his fingers.

And yet, instinctively, Nalika knew that, of all the people V.V. could and would manipulate, the man walking next to him was the one person V.V. would never betray.

The Directorate guards saluted as V.V. and the Emperor walked onto the airstrip. It was a rather modest ceremony, attended only by the Directorate guards. The private jet, one of the Directorate's, waited.

Charles looked at V.V. "You're off then, brother?"

V.V. smiled. "You seem to be doubting my ability, Charles."

"I am not," Charles responded stiffly, and V.V. smiled.

"Then smile. Everything you and I have worked for will be completed soon. The kind gentle world that you and Marianne wanted. The world that humankind deserves."

For a moment, something flickered in Charles' eyes—and V.V. realized he had misspoke. Sighing, he put a small, childlike hand on Charles' hand.

"Charles, Marianne is gone. But the dream you shared with her isn't. So put your faith in me once more. I will fulfill her dream for her."

For a moment, Charles still seemed lost—and then finally nodded with a smile that V.V. rarely saw nowadays.

"Of course. I trust you, brother."

"And I you, Charles."

V.V. leaned back as he allowed the force of the plane's ascent to push him into his seat.

"The more powerful you get, the more people lie to you, huh?" he muttered as he held his hand in front of him.

His fingers still remembered the sensation of pulling the trigger, the wild struggle of the rifle he had aimed on that night in the Imperial Palace.

"Even I…"

He closed his eyes. What was done was done. After all, wasn't this what she had wanted?

Don't worry, Marianne. I'll fulfill your wish for you.

Charles zi Britannia shaded his eyes with one hand as he watched the jet recede into the deep blue sky.

"…even you, Brother?"

Tokyo Air Traffic Control Center

Tokorozawa, Saitama Prefecture, Nation of Japan

From a distance, the battle that raged within the Tokyo Air Traffic Control Center looked almost trivial. From the scope of a rifle, the soundless muzzle flashes and explosions could have been that of a particularly enthusiastic nightclub. The figures that ran and fell seemed as significant as the ants underneath a boot.

For Maiya Hisau, though, that kind of mindset was useless.

To delude yourself with that kind of optimism would only set you up for PTSD once somebody shattered that illusion of yours.

For someone who had been forced to look straight into the face of death, the pretenses of those who could afford to look away were pitiful.

"JSDF and Britannians engaging each other," she reported into her headset as she settled in her position on top of the residential complex on which she was watching. Fenced off from the rest of Tokorozawa, the Air Control Center's grounds were largely filled with flat, empty field, making an approach difficult, something the Britannian special forces were slowly discovering.

Yet the Britannian troops continued forwards—control of the Air Control Center would mean control of all air traffic in most of the Greater Tokyo Area, too great a prize for the Britannians to let up.

Though most of the Britannian force was still landing, it appeared that Britannian special forces had long since been deployed to neutralize air defense and air control areas. And it seemed like they were doing quite well.

With a sickening crunch that could be seen through the scope, a JSDF soldier's head snapped back as he fell in an ungainly heap. He probably wouldn't be standing up soon.

"Stand by," Emiya Kiritsugu's voice echoed in her head.

"The identification card that Fujimura gave us was for the JSDF," Maiya noted. As thanks for an occasion in which Kiritsugu and Maiya had saved his life, Fujimura Group Oyabun Fujimura Raiga had provided Kiritsugu with forged documents and passcodes to be used at the Air Traffic Control Center. It was unnecessary to point out that the Britannians would be less willing to take Japanese IDs than the JSDF.

"Not a reason to jeopardize the plan. Stand by."

"Yessir," Maiya replied, noting the location of a twitching Japanese body as the Britannian special forces closed in towards the building complex. She was in no rush—and if a few Britannians and Japanese died, it would make her job easier.

Sunday, February 6th, 2010 A.T.B., 0400 Hours Tokyo Time

Minato, Tokyo, Nation of Japan

"Rawr rawr, I'm Godzilla."

"Jackson, what are you doing?"

"Taking a picture for the kids."

The synthesized sound of a digital camera's shutter echoed unnaturally against the backdrop of suppressed gunfire.

"I heard that Japanese phones have the shutter sound permanently activated because people were using the phones to take under-skirt photos of women.[2]"

"Horny bastards," Private First Class Paul Jackson of the Britannian Queen's Rangers, callsign Baikal, chuckled as he examined the picture he had taken on the battered nokia that was his phone. Even to the backdrop of floodlights and gunfire, the Eiffel Tower-inspired Tokyo Tower still looked beautiful, a shining tower of shimmering light against the Tokyo skyline. Miraculously, most of the lights that powered the tower remained largely functional.

Lit up by numerous LED lights, the orange tower seemed to exude a soft warmth against the early morning sky on an otherwise chilly night.

The sight, of course, was obscured by the green dinosaur toy that Jackson had menacingly placed next to the tower.

Satisfied, he turned off the camera phone and stowed it away as he sat down on a bullet-ridden police car.

"Hungry?"

Looking up, Jackson instinctively grabbed the wrapped piece of bakery bread that his comrade, Corporal Kusui, callsign Ontario, hurled to him from behind the pockmarked counter of a FamilyMart. Though the glass electric doors had long since broken, the echoing electric tone that accompanied the door's opening played as soon as Jackson neared the door.

Ripping apart the plastic wrap, Jackson examined the piece of bread. The piece of bread was soft to the touch, though covered by a slightly crisscrossed crust, almost resembling a cantaloupe.

"It's custard," Kusui said with a laugh as he noticed Jackson's hesitation. "We used to eat it in Taiwan."

Jackson bit into it. The custard was crunchy, but also sweet and buttery.

"This is pretty good," Jackson remarked. "How do you say it in Chinese?"

Kusui sighed. "I'm not Chinese, remember?"

Jackson blinked in surprise, and then in embarrassment. "Oh yeah. Sorry." To be fair, Kusui looked far closer to the pacific islanders of Oceania than Han Chinese. Dark and wide-eyed, they had far more in common with the inhabitants of the Philippines than the farmers on the Chinese mainland. Since the first arrival of the Dutch and then the Chinese and then the Japanese and then the Chinese again, the aboriginal Taiwanese had met with repeated invasions of their land by foreigners, most of which attempted to convert them to their respective cultures by force. Kusui, descendants of resistance fighters from the largest of the Aboriginal Taiwanese ethnic groups, had fled to Britannia after aboriginal student protests at Taipei had been violently suppressed by Chinese forces. As a result, Suming Kusui had never learned a word of what his parents referred to as the "Chinese oppressors."

"You gotta remember these things, man." Unscrewing the cap off what looked like a bottle of coffee, Kusui gulped down the contents of the bottle.

"What a day, huh?"

It had been quite a day. Elements of the Queen's Rangers had been deployed to seize vital assets ahead of the main force, and Jackson's company had been deployed to seize Tokyo Tower. Though it no longer occupied such a prominent place in the Tokyo skyline, the tower still managed cell phone, television and radio transmissions within much of Tokyo's inner city. The JSDF had realized as well, judging by the roadblocks and checkpoints that the Rangers had fought through.

In the end, though, the superior training and equipment of the Rangers had prevailed, and the complex below the tower lay largely in their hands.

Jackson sighed. "Those knightmares, though…"

"Putting us out of business, those guys are," Kusui complained.

From their place on top of Tokyo Tower, Kusui and Jackson had witnessed the destruction that the "Glasgow" had wreaked on what had previously seemed like solid Japanese defenses. With the firepower of a tank and the mobility of an infantryman, those humanoid robots made even the M-33 Clinton that had seemed like the forefront of armored warfare seem obsolete.

"With those things, the war'll be over in a month," Kusui muttered.

Jackson picked up a postcard that almost screamed "Greetings from Tokyo" in big rainbow colors. "You'd rather it be longer?" As far as Jackson was concerned, the faster he could get back to his children, the better.

"Nahhh…but doesn't it feel like we're getting left behind? God knows we're never going to get any funding once these knightmares win the war."

"That's what they said when tanks came out," Jackson returned in a thoughtful tone. "But I don't think we're obsolete, and I don't think we ever will be. Wars are won by infantry. You can bring in cool gadgets that help infantry fight, and cool gadgets to get rid of enemy infantry, but at the end of it, war is won by the boots on the ground."

"Ehhh," Kusui responded, less than convinced. A beam of light caused them both to look up, hands tightening on their weapons—just as, with a burst of pulverized gravel, a giant hulking shape agilely negotiated the destroyed cars and broken sandbags.

Both Kusui and Jackson stared like deer in the headlights as, with a blip, the armor plates on the Glasgow Knightmare Frame's factspheres receded, revealing the glowing, pulsating center sensor.

A voice suddenly emanated from the Glasgow's head, a rather youthful, boyish voice. Jackson had been expecting an electronic or at least a lower-pitched voice. "Queen's Rangers?"

"Yessir," Jackson replied, "Callsign Baikal, Queen's Rangers."

Kusui saluted as well. "Ontario, Queen's Rangers."

"1st Lieutenant Joey Jones, E troop, 1st Squadron of the Britannian Imperial Knightmare Corps. It's an honor meeting actual members of the Queen's Rangers," the voice returned, the enthusiasm in it like that of a raw recruit holding a weapon for the first time.

"The honor is ours," Jackson replied with a grin. The Queen's Rangers were not the most elite of the Britannian special forces, but they were close, and their exploits all over the world were common knowledge, even out of Britannia. A rather popular video games series starring the Rangers had largely solidified the Ranger's reputation to the teenage gamer crowd. "So what brings you here, Lieutenant Jones?"

"I'm here escorting the resupply unit," Lieutenant Jones explained. Even as he spoke, an APC drove down the road. Unlike the Knightmare, which had nimbly maneuvered around the damaged cars, the APC simply drove over them as several army officers leapt out.

"Resupply unit, dispensing supplies and supply accessories," the officer in front reported cheerily as he leapt down from the APC's back. "Though it seems like you guys are already pretty well-supplied," he noted, glancing at the FamilyMart food that Kusui and Jackson held in their hands.

"Is that food?"

"Oh, is that one of those knightmares?"

"Oh, the Meals on Wheels."

As if attracted by the smell, the rest of Kusui and Jackson's unit flocked towards the APC. Jackson rummaged through the boxes of ammunition and replacement weaponry the APC carried as he spoke with the resupply officer.

"So how are we doing against the Japs?"

"Got 'em on the run," the resupply officer replied proudly, as if he had personally routed the Japanese army. "They're really putting up a fight, but we've got a solid beachhead. I heard the Northern and Southern Expeditionary forces are doing even better."

"Well, we are tying down half the JSDF right here." Most of the JSDF had been deployed to defend the capitol.

"So once we take Tokyo, the war'll be done and we'll all go home, innit?"

Jackson said nothing. He wished it were true. However, unlike his father and predecessor, a prudent and subdued businessman, Japanese Prime Minister Genbu Kururugi was a blunt man with a dogged determination. Knowing him, the Japanese government had long since vacated into the countryside in an attempt to maintain its resistance. Somehow, Jackson doubted that this kind of man would readily give up with the fall of Tokyo. In fact, Jackson doubted that this kind of man would readily give up, ever.

His attempt to say it, however, was interrupted by the arrival of a man into the assembled men.

"Gentlemen, start parcking," Captain Mantarankis barked as he looked around. "We're heading back to headquarters for some shuteye."

"What about here?"

"The Army'll take over for us. We have a new assignment as soon as we're done."

"Go on…"

"I can't tell you," Mantarankis replied coyly, sticking an outstretched pinky near the corner of his mouth in a pose that would certainly have been more seductive on somebody far less muscular, bearded and male than Stephen Mantarankis.

"Such a cocktease," Kusui groaned as he paused to grab a drink from the FamilyMart.

"To be honest, I don't really know myself. But apparently it's from pretty high up," Mantarankis continued in a more serious tone.

With a heave, Jackson shouldered his rifle.

"Sleep, and then something important. Sounds good enough to me," he commented. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out his camera phone and flipped it open. Lit by the backlight, a grainy, poorly-taken picture of a young woman and two small children waved up at him.

"I'm going to have to learn how to use a camera when I get back home," Jackson murmured to himself with a smile as he snapped the phone closed and tucked it back behind the magazine in his breast pocket.

He hoped he would have the opportunity to do so.

Sunday, February 6th, 2010 A.T.B., 0800 Hours Tokyo Time

Kururugi Family Compound, Nation of Japan

"Morning, Sasaki."

"M-morning, milady," Takasu Sasaki replied as he struggled to keep up with Fujimura Taiga's swift pace.

"How is the battle going?"

"Our forces are…not doing as well as they could be."

"Does that mean we are being defeated?

Sasaki looked down. "I'm afraid so, milady."

"Any news on any evacuation?"

"None, milady."

"Keep me posted if you hear anything, from father or anyone else."

"Of course, milady." As Fujimura Taiga quickened her pace even further, Sasaki stared in a mixture of wonder and respect at the girl who, only 24 hours ago, had been complaining about an overabundance of leeks in her breakfast.

Seemingly overnight, the impulsive and quirky girl that Sasaki had once considered a case of incurable ADHD had changed into a lady of Oyabun material.

Sasaki should have seen it coming. After all, for all of his stubbornness, poor temper and caprices, Fujimura Raiga was, after all, the man behind the the largest of the Japanese "Chivalric groups," the Fujimura Group.

It was, of course, not an act. Fujimura Raiga was genuinely the overbearing father, irritable old man, and demanding leader that he normally was, just as Fujimura Taiga was most certainly the hyperactive, impulsive, and hot-blooded girl that she normally was.

In fact, Sasaki doubted either would have the attention span to fake any personality that was not their own.

Yet the cool-headedness and leadership that both father and daughter exhibited in times of stress was as genuine as the quirks they showed in safer times.

For all their eccentricities, both Fujimura at heart were people of sound judgment.

It was this side of the Fujimura that, several years ago, had led the irresponsible, petty delinquent that had been Takasu Sasaki to dedicate his loyalty to Fujimura Raiga.

A loyalty which Sasaki was now willing to devote to Fujimura Taiga.

With a salute, the two old guard soldiers slid open the screen door into the main building of the Kururugi Clan Compound.

"Suzaku hasn't come out?"

Sasaki lowered his head. "Master Kururugi, I am afraid, has not come out yet."

The commotion in the main building was obvious as soon as they entered. Soldiers and servants whispered to each other nervously. Since yesterday, they had been trying to convince Suzaku Kururugi, son of the Prime Minister, to open the door to the safe house into which he had shut himself. Accompanied by the Britannian brother and sister who were his best friends, Kururugi had refused to open the door despite the pleas and remonstrations of the family servants.

The conversations within the building were whispered and confused.

"—apparently an evacuation order is in place—" It appeared the servants knew that the battle in Tokyo was not going in favor of the JSDF.

"—he'll have to come out eventually—" Sasaki doubted it. Like all safe houses, the Kururugi Compound's safehouse was meant to defend against anything from a home invasion to a carpet bombing, and it most likely held sufficient food and drink to last at least a week.

"—must be that Britannian boy."

"—That boy has been corrupting the young master—"

Sasaki felt a stir of irritation. The snide, bookish Britannian Prince that had been living as a political hostage at the Kururugi Complex for over a year had always been a figure of mystery, in no small part because none of the servants had made any attempt to acquaint themselves with the boy outside of providing for basic necessities. It was not unexpected that they scapegoat him now.

Though Sasaki himself did not know if it was in fact the influence of the Britannian boy, he felt a stir of anger. As a half-Korean child born out of an extramarital affair with stereotypically "delinquent" looks, he had ample experience with people who judged him while making no attempt to know him. Perhaps it was self-fulfilling prophecy that he had ended up as a delinquent among delinquents, a member of the Yakuza. He would make sure his son would not be treated in the same way.

Sergeant Kikuchi, the commander of the compound guards, bowed as Taiga and Sasaki reached the entrance to the Safe House, a heavy concrete and iron structure that, despite its decorations, looked out of place in the Spartan, ascetic wood and paper that defined a Japanese architectural culture dedicated to simplicity and transience.

"Has Suzaku come out yet?"

Kikuchi shook his head helplessly. "We've been trying to talk to him, but he refuses to open the door."

"Has he said anything about why he's doing it?"

"Tell you the truth, he doesn't seem quite sure himself," Kikuchi sighed. "The Young Master usually doesn't act this childish…this is the worst time for him to act like this."

"Let me try to talk to him," Taiga ordered as she walked over to the intercom next to the door.

"Oy, Suzaku," she spoke into the intercom. A moment of silence later, the intercom responded with a crackly rendition of the voice of Suzaku Kururugi.

"That you, Tiger?"

"I told you not to call me tha—" taking a deep breath, Taiga forced a smile that wouldn't transmit across the intercom anyway. It didn't do much to hide her irritation.

"Suzaku, what are you doing in there? Is one of us trying to kill you or something?"

For an uncomfortably long moment of silence, Sasaki, Taiga, Sergeant Kikuchi and the servants all crowded together in an attempt to hear the intercom before it finally reactivated.

"To, um…Lelouch, what is this word? No, of course I don't know it, I'm ten—" The intercom turned off for a few moments before turning back on.

"To, um, facilitate the, err, maintenance of diplomatic, um, protocol, and to ensure the safety of, erm, Princess Sumeragi Kikyo and her daughter."

Taiga's confusion was not shared by anyone else in the room, and a wave of furious whispers flowed over the crowd. In an attempt to guarantee peace between the newly-restored nation of Japan and the Holy Empire of Britannia, Genbu Kururugi's father and predecessor, Shigekuni Kururugi, had married Kikyo Sumeragi, granddaughter of the deposed Emperor, to the 96th Emperor, a man several decades her senior. The overthrow of the emperor, the ensuing conflict, and the ascension of the Emperor's son, the 98th Emperor, Charles zi Britannia, had led to tensions between the nations until, in an unusual act of conciliation, Charles had sent a Britannian Prince and Princess to Japan a year ago—the very brother and sister that were with Suzaku inside the safe room.

So this IS the Britannian boy's doing, Sasaki thought to himself. The Young Master did not seem to know half the words he was saying, and Sasaki couldn't blame him—he certainly wouldn't have known those words at age ten, though that also had something to do with his decision to stop attending certain classes at school.

"Suzaku, let me talk to you and that Britannian boy," Taiga said with an imploring tone and annoyed expression on her face.

"Hang on." There was a moment of silence once more, silence that Sasaki suspected consisted of a hurried discussion inside the safe room. Finally, the intercom responded, this time in the voice of the Britannian boy.

"Alright, but order the servants and guards away."

Taiga turned around and nodded to Sasaki. Walking in front of the crowd, Sasaki gently prodded forwards.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, back to your stations. You want to see the Young master, right? Then get out of here. Get something to eat. Whatever."

"Alright," Taiga sighed as, a few minutes later, she and Sasaki stood in a now-empty room. Sasaki could see Kikuchi and some of the others peeking or listening in, judging by the silhouettes that piled themselves up against the screen door.

"Your bodyguard too," the boy said.

"How did you—oh," Taiga responded as she looked up at the closed-circuit camera that peeked down at them. Sasaki was tempted to rip the camera out of its socket—but that would only serve to make sure that the safe room door would never open until kingdom come.

"Well, if you say so," Sasaki replied as he quickly stepped through the door to stare at the surprised servants, who hurried away from the paper screen where they had been piled moments before.

From a distance, Sasaki watched as the iron doors slowly opened—a defensive measure meant to slow down an attacker. The door would, however, close in a moment if the occupants demanded it. Putting a hand out to block Sergeant Kikuchi, Sasaki glared at the servants who seemed to be readying for a charge.

"Could you guys trust the young masters a little more?"

With a slightly petulant sigh, Kikuchi fell back as, crossing his arms, Sasaki awaited the return of his charge.

The first thing that hit Fujimura Taiga was the smell.

"Oh god," she muttered, almost retching, as she entered the safe room—a completely metal-lined room lit with raw fluorescent lights.

"I guess Natto[3] was not a good idea," Suzaku Kururugi said in lieu of apology as he grinned a sheepish grin.

"No, no it wasn't," the Britannian boy replied from where he was sitting next to a computer. Taiga took a moment to look around the safe house. Several firearms and even what looked like a machete lay hung up on nearby racks, while the shelves were full of canned foods, ammunition, basic toiletries and a few machines. Looking around, the occupants could probably have survived a good month inside without any worries.

Suzaku and the Britannian boy both looked dirty, their clothes marked by dirt and grass stains. In comparison, though, the boy's sister, Nunnally, looked remarkably clean, dressed in a simple, if pretty dress and seated on her omnipresent wheelchair. In the harsh surroundings, she looked like a flower on a battlefield.

"Morning, Fujimura-san," Nunnally said, once again with the unnerving honorific. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Erm, alright," Taiga responded, as Suzaku ran over to help, pouring a kettle of boiling water into several tea-bagged ceramic mugs.

It felt slightly surreal, drinking tea out of mugs in the middle of what could have passed for a postapocalyptic bunker.

In an attempt to break the awkward, tense silence, Taiga put down her mug as she smiled slightly awkwardly.

"So, how are things going with you guys?"

"We'd be slightly better off if Suzaku hadn't decided he had a craving for Natto," the Britannian boy muttered.

Suzaku smiled sheepishly. "it did taste good, though, right, Lelouch?"

Lelouch grunted grudgingly in response.

"Seriously, though, what are you guys doing in here? We might not be doing the best at this moment, but we're starting to slow the Britannians down. If anything, my father or your Prime Minister Kururugi will send someone to evacuate us."

"To evacuate YOU," Lelouch responded grimly.

"What do you mean? I don't think he'd send just one helicopter—"

"—and kill me and Nunnally," Lelouch interrupted.

"…what?"

"…did you forget? We are here as hostages to Prime Minister Kururugi and the nation of Japan, to ensure Britannia will not invade, just as Princess Sumeragi was sent to Britannia to ensure Japan will not invade."

Taiga nodded slowly. "…but Britannia has invaded."

"Exactly."

Taiga's eyes slowly widened—and then she shook her head. Next to her, Suzaku also shook her head.

"There's no way Father would do that."

"Yeah, Lelouch…you two are children. And you're Suzaku's best friends—"

"Genbu Kururugi is a man of honor," Lelouch responded darkly. "If his honor is slighted, he will respond in kind."

Taiga shook her head. "No way. I'm sure your parents have done something to make sure you won't be killed, right? And Prime Minister Kururugi has done something to make sure Princess Sumeragi in Britannia won't be killed—"

"Our mother is dead," Lelouch replied simply.

"Your father—"

"Before he sent us to this country, the last thing our father told me was this: 'You are dead. You have been dead since the day you were born. You have not lived a single moment. A dead man has no rights.'"

Suzaku almost dropped his own mug. "No way…"

"That can't be," Taiga managed, "No father would consign his own children to death like that."

Lelouch's gaze didn't waver.

"He already has."

A moment of silence ensued as Taiga and Suzaku both opened their mouths and closed them again. Taiga's hands threatened to crush the ceramic handle of her mug. What kind of father would do that?! How could a father knowingly send his child towards his death? It was obvious that Lelouch and Nunnally's father was in a high position for them to be sent over as equivalents to the Princess Sumeragi—but there was no way somebody who would willingly throw away their children could be deserving of their position.

Out of nowhere, Taiga slammed her mug onto the table as she stood up angrily.

"…Then if your father won't protect you, then my father will," she said, glaring at Lelouch. "My father is Fujimura Raiga, in control of 43% of the economy of the Nation of Japan, and an elder of Kyoto House."

Suzaku, though, looked convinced. "Tiger, when's the last time your dad has agreed with you on anything? Ever?"

Spinning around, Taiga shot a glare at Suzaku that caused him to wilt on the spot. "I'll make him." Turning back to Lelouch, Taiga looked at the suddenly-nervous Britannian boy in the eyes.

"Will you trust me?"

Even the normally bratty Britannian boy looked slightly awestruck as he attempted to retain a calm expression. "…Do you swear?"

"I do."

Slowly, Lelouch looked away.

"…fine. Do whatever."

Taiga grinned, a grin, unbeknownst to her, caused Suzaku to shiver as she raised a clenched fist.

"Excellent. And if I ever find your father, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. Now let's go, I'm getting sick of the smell of Natto."

Sunday, February 6th, 2010 A.T.B., 0845 Hours Tokyo Time

Tokyo Airspace

"Lord V.V., we are now entering Britannian-occupied Japanese Airspace."

"Very good, carry on," V.V. said absent-mindedly as he looked outside the window. With a roar, one of the two Britannian jets that had escorted them from Manila moved aside as Tokyo, the capital of the nation of Japan, loomed.

On first glance, Tokyo did not seem too badly harmed—Tokyo Tower looked as imposing as ever, as did the not-yet-completed Tokyo Skytree. However, on closer inspection, it became possible to see the plumes of smoke and burning buildings—testament to the furious street-to-street fighting that was currently raging throughout the city. In the crowded streets, the Knightmares of Knight of One Bismark Waldstein's 1st Squadron lost a large portion of their mobility, and so the battle was going painfully slowly compared to the victories in Hokkaido and southern Honshu and Kyushu.

V.V. glanced at the orange-haired, cat-eyed man that was happily humming a tune as he looked out the window. "Glad to be home?"

Uryu Ryuunosuke laughed pleasantly. "Heh, I don't mind it."

"Not much of a nationalist, was I?"

"That's racist," Uryu replied happily, "Japanese people look the same inside as anyone else."

V.V. laughed despite his discomfort. That phrase would have sounded perfectly innocuous in the mouth of anyone else except Uryu Ryuunosuke, the "Leopard Serial Killer" that had committed a string of murders all across Honshu before mysteriously disappearing. If the Los Angeles Knight Police, Moscow FSB, Persian Imperial Police, Area 6 Police at Bogota, and Quebec Gendarmes had somehow met and exchanged information on a string of mysterious murders, they might be able to uncover a little bit more of the trail of bodies that Uryu had left behind.

"As disgusting as you are," V.V. chuckled, "You are an honest man. And there are precious few of those out there."

"I thank you for the compliment," Uryu responded cheerily.

V.V. chuckled as he leaned back into his seat. And now you choose to act Japanese?

In the cockpit, the pilot consulted his radio.

"Britannian Flight Control, this is Flight GEF-02, coming in for landing."

"GEF-02, this is flight control, we copy. Good to see you're still in one piece."

"GEF-02 here, we copy. We'll be coming in on Haneda Airport Runway 3 as planned."

"Err, negative, GEF-02, we've got reports of JSDF infantry and anti-air in the vicinity. Repeat, you're negative for Haneda Airport. Hostiles in the vicinity."

"Copy, Flight Control, so what's the plan?"

"GEF-02, we've cleared an airstrip for you at a nearby private airstrip, code 4B, is that fine with you?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

"Alright, I'm sending the data over to command. Best of luck."

"Alright, see you there."

Tokyo Air Traffic Control Center

Tokorozawa, Saitama Prefecture, Nation of Japan

"See you there. Flight Control, out." The Britannian Colonel smiled as he switched out the radio. He looked up, smiling, proud of having done his job—and then blinked.

The Air Traffic Control Center's control room looked like a movie theatre, with steadily descending rows of computers terminating in a vast LCD screen showing the countless flights that crisscrossed Japanese airspace every day.

And, slumped over each of the consoles was the body of a Britannian soldier.

And then he realized that there was something held against the back of his head.

"What—"

In the ringing silence that followed the gunshot, the body slumped to the floor, accompanied by the gentle ping of a handgun bullet's casing clattering on the floor.

Maiya Hisau pulled the body of the Britannian colonel aside, letting it fall to the floor like the rest of his unit.

Maiya Hisau was not a splendid magus and hypnosis a very weak piece of magecraft—but against a physically-fatigued individual with not an ounce of magic circuits such as the hapless Birtannian Colonel, it was more than sufficient for short periods of time. Typing into the Bloodstained console, Maiya nodded to nobody in particular as a blip of conformation appeared on the console.

"Maiya here."

"Did Fujimura's codes go through?"

"Yes. Kayneth's plane should now be landing at your airfield."

"Good job. Prepare the getaway car."

"Yes, sir."

Shouldering her rifle, Maiya Hisau moved with the practiced ease of an expert, disappearing in moments with a silence a ghost might envy, the remnants of Britannian Flight Control already forgotten behind her.

Tokyo Outskirts

Greater Tokyo Area, Nation of Japan

The wind was strong today.

The smoke Emiya Kiritsugu exhaled was instantly scattered into the wind as if it were nothing.

Holding the cigarette to his mouth, Kiritsugu took another controlled breath, blowing out the smoke that often choked early smokers. He had largely stopped smoking seven years ago, but the mannerisms and habits did not die quite so easily.

Sighing, Kiritsugu discarded the exhausted cigarette stub, grinding it under his boot as he looked through the scope of his Barrett .50[4].

Through the dark interior of the rifle scope, Britannian soldiers moved to and fro to prepare Airfield 4B for the arrival of Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi.

Carefully, Kiritsugu tuned the adjusting knobs on the scope to adjust for the wind. At a range of almost mile, even a slight wind would be enough to throw off a rifle bullet's trajectory by several meters.

Though the range was a bit too far for Kiritsugu to know for sure, he suspected that the Britannian soldiers were probably annoyed to have been brought to such a faraway airfield. He mentally thanked Fujimura Raiga for providing him with the passwords and identification for the Air Traffic Control Center.

Several years ago, Emiya Kiritsugu had saved Raiga from a dangerous situation in Russia when he killed the Cartel leader who had been targeting the Japanese Oyabun. Fujimura had not forgotten the debt and had since considered Kiritsugu a friend.

Kiritsugu chuckled. The Emiya Kiritsugu of seven years would have put a bullet through Raiga's head without hesitation if it would have saved more people.

It was fortunate he hadn't—Fujimura had provided much of the intel and identification for this operation.

Thus far, everything had gone well—using Fujimura's codes, Kiritsugu's longtime assistant Maiya had diverted Kayneth's plane to this obscure airfield, where Kiritsugu awaited. With luck, he would be able to eliminate one of the more dangerous masters of this war right off the bat.

Even if not, he would get a chance to witness the abilities of his future opponent. At the range of over a mile, Kiritsugu was confident in his ability to escape unscathed. And if all else failed…Kiritsugu's eyes flickered over the command seals on his palm.

"Target descending from 4,000 feet," Maiya's reported.

"Copy." Moving away from the rifle, Kiritsugu picked up the long, oblong tube leaning against the wall. The FIM-92 Stinger had been designed to allow infantry a good chance against aerial targets—and through Britannian involvement in various insurgencies and civil wars around the world, a fair amount of them had ended up in the Black Market. Compared to some of the weapons Kiritsugu used, a Stinger was quite easy to find.

If he could blow the plane out of the sky in one shot, it would be the cleanest possible kill as far as Kiritsugu was concerned. After all, with Natalia—Kiritsugu closed his eyes. Now was not the time to reminisce.

Putting his eye to the aiming reticle, Kiritsugu tracked the shapes that descended below the clouds—and clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"They brought escorts?"

"Seems like it."

It seemed as if somebody had been aware of the possibility of an aerial attack. Two Britannian Air Force jets accompanied the innocent-looking private jet, on the lookout for attack. It would be difficult to bring down the jet with a single Stinger with its two escorts on alert—and, if it failed, it was likely that Kiritsugu would not get a second shot.

"Alright, scratch the stinger, we'll have to take him out with the .50." It was a pity, but to drive the enemy off without learning anything would be even more wasteful.

"Roger. Target landing."

Kiritsugu returned to the .50. Through the scope, it seemed as if the jet was landing, its back wheels connecting with the ground, followed by its front wheel as it decelerated. As it slowed to a crawl, the Britannian soldiers and ground crew moved to guide the plane and its fighter escort to a stop.

"Switching to thermal," Kiritsugu muttered as he turned the appropriate dial. Immediately, the view from within the scope changed from color to black, dotted by white splotches—sources of heat, from vehicles to humans. As he adjusted the dial, the white splotches that represented humans glowed brighter and brighter as he adjusted the scope's sensitivity.

"Hostiles exiting."

Through the scope, Kiritsugu watched the Britannian soldiers push a set of wheeled steps towards the plane hatch. Kiritsugu closed his eyes. Right now, he was not Emiya Kiritsugu the father, nor was he Emiya Kiritsugu the husband—nor Emiya Kiritsugu, the person. He was simply the Magus Killer—and, across the scope, his target.

With practiced ease, his hands touched lightly on the trigger as he felt his heartbeat slow to a crawl.

Through the scope, the plane hatch opened.

Two individuals of roughly adult height exited first, a male and a female. Through the thermal scope, their temperature was roughly normal. Kiritsugu's trigger finger slackened. It seemed as if Lord Archibald had brought company.

"Target exiting."

Kiritsugu caught a glimpse of white, and his hands tightened on the grip.

Though it, too, registered heat, it was a different shade of white—the shade of a magic circuit in use.

It was something that nonmagus did not know and most magus did not care to know—the use of magic circuits had a subtle effect on temperature that could be detected on a thermographic camera[4] such as the .50's thermal weapon sight.

A master's set of command seals, which functioned as a set of permanently active circuits, were no exception.

Of course, the average magus didn't know and didn't care—there were spells that could not only identify a magic circuit in use, but the location of the user.

Then again, Emiya Kiritsugu was not your average magus. A thermal scope conferred its own advantages. For one, most magi did not see nonmagus weaponry as a threat. While the average magus went to extravagant extremes to detect enemy magecraft, none of Kiritsugu's targets had known to defend against a thermal scope.

And, it seemed, Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi did not either.

"Escorts unloading." Kiritsugu turned the scope towards the back of the plane. Sure enough, two Britannian soldiers appeared to be unloading what looked like a refrigerator. However, several meters away from the target, it probably wouldn't be a factor.

Focusing back onto the target, Kiritsugu's finger slowly tightened—

"Wait."

"Yes?"

"…Is he supposed to be this short?"

The shape walking down the steps did not fit the description of Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi. This shaped seemed a little bit shorter.

"Switching to visual," Kiritsugu murmured as the monochrome of the thermal scope returned to its normal shade.

"Kiritsugu, what do you see?"

Is that a child?! There, centered in Kiritsugu's crosshairs, was a little girl, probably not even twelve years old. Her blonde hair was ridiculously long, falling almost to her waist.

Almost like Ilya.

Kiritsugu checked the thermal scope to be sure, hoping against all hope that the girl would be clear. It was not the case. That girl was most definitely a master.

Far more people will be saved when I win the Grail War than ever. If there's ever a time to pull the trigger, it's now.

The Magus Killer was right, of course.

Yet Emiya Kiritsugu did not pull the trigger.

The target had already descended to the bottom of the stairs—the window of opportunity Kiritsugu had set was closing.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself. He had to shoot now. This was a perfect opportunity, one that would not present itself again. All the favors he had called in from Fujimura and his other contacts in the capital were for this moment.

Open Fire, the Magus Killer insisted in his mind. No internal voice spoke back in protest—the Magus Killer was the only voice Kiritsugu heard, the only voice he saw as reason.

He simply couldn't pull the trigger.

"Target moving for exit vehicle!"

You've killed thousands of people for this. You can't fall short now, when your goal is in sight.

The target was lined out. All he had to do was pull the trigger.

Shoot!

"Kiritsugu!"

Closing his eyes, Kiritsugu felt his hand move on its own—and then, with a slow roar, the .50 discharged.

Almost instantly, he opened his eyes. The bullet moved with almost theatrical slowness—at more than a mile, the bullet took nearly two seconds to hit its mark. Almost instinctively, Kiritsugu knew the bullet had missed the mark—he hoped it did.

Hit in the shoulder, a Britannian soldier spun around, the force of the impact spinning him like a top.

"Target unharmed, hostiles closing in your direction!"

Maiya's voice hit Kiritsugu like a wave of cold water.

The Britannian soldiers, initially taken by surprise, were now closing in around the master as they opened fire at Kiritsugu's direction.

With a whine, a bullet shot over Kiritsugu's head—a wild shot from a weapon that hadn't been meant for this kind of range. The odds of it hitting Kiritsugu were astronomically low.

Yet, somehow, that was enough.

He was under fire.

Emiya Kiritsugu's thoughts did not disappear—they simply sunk under the surface, like Leonardo DiCaprio off the coast of Newfoundland, replaced with a cold, almost painful clarity.

Finally, reluctantly, the Magus Killer had been awakened.

Mechanically, he switched the filter to thermal vision.

Instantly, all the humans in the scope's field of view vanished.

Instead, they were replaced with moving bags of heat, no different from the engine of a machine, to be turned on or turned off with a switch.

If Emiya Kiritsugu could not kill a human, then he would have to stop treating them as humans.

"Cover me, Maiya," Kiritsugu ordered as he mentally adjusted for distance and wind speeds.

"Roger, firing."

With a loud, cracking report, one of the Britannian soldiers fell. Surprised, his fellows turned as Maiya downed another soldier with another shot.

That moment of confusion was all that the man known as the Magus Killer needed.

Adjusting the crosshairs in a single fluid moment, he pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Sniper Rifles are divided into two classifications—antipersonnel and anti-materiel.

The Barrett M82 is classified as an anti-materiel rifle. A descendant of the anti-tank rifles of the Great War, the M82 is intended for use against armored vehicles.

Against humans, it felt into the category of overkill.

At excess of 2,700 feet per second, the modified .50 bullet hit an unfortunate Britannian soldier who stood in the bullet's path with the force of 4 Kilojoules. Punching almost instantly through the lung and ribcage, the bullet exited cleanly through the back before impacting with the target with sufficient energy to pass right through and embed itself into the plane wall. It was joined in its final rest milliseconds later by a spray of brain matter.

"Target down," Maiya reported.

"Alright, let's go."

Ejecting the magazine out of the .50, Kiritsugu took one last look through the scope. His hand reached automatically to the scope switch to confirm the kill visually. However, at the last minute, his hand stopped.

Somehow, he suspected, he would not be able to forgive himself if he switched out.

Rushing to the edge of the building, Kiritsugu clambered over the edge of the four-story building and leapt without a second thought. As the ground loomed ahead, he put a hand out as, with a short burst of prana, his impact was limited to a soft thump. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Kiritsugu removed a pre-paid mobile phone as he clicked a button on instant-dial.

The explosion that ensued, while loud, seemed muted, almost subdued compared to the elaborated conflagrations designed by Hollywood.

An unskilled user of explosives will often attempt to compensate for lack of technical skill with sheer explosive force. However, such explosions are wasteful, loud and difficult to control.

However, skilled demolition experts can identify the vital parts of a structure as small as a residential house to a large scale business—foundations, load-bearing pillars, arches. By triggering controlled explosions in vital structures, a building could be brought down safely and with limited cost.

For somebody whose knowledge of explosives approached that of a demolitions expert, Emiya Kiritsugu could bring down a building with a fraction of that amount.

Allowing the remains of his attack to crumble, Emiya Kiritsugu ran to where his escape vehicle awaited.

"Wow," Uryu Ryuunosuke grinned appreciatively as he rubbed a finger along the side of the Geass Directorate Jet and examined the brownish brain matter encrusted on it as Nalika looked on without interest. Being hit with an anti-tank gun was pretty messy.

"When you're done playing with my brains, Uryu, you could help find the other half of my skull."

"Nah."

"Your honesty is your greatest strength and your greatest weakness," V.V. muttered, his voice made all the more irritating by the whistling caused by the ventilation in his skull.

"…Well? Is he gone?"

For a moment, it seemed as if nobody would respond—and then a slightly-surly voice spoke, seemingly out of nowhere.

"I can no longer sense him, my master."

"Good enough. Nalika, help me up. The bullet might have snapped my spine."

Uryu could only imagine the shock the Britannian-uniformed Geass Directorate soldiers must have felt as they watched the Indian girl yank the corpse to its feet, its head twisted at a bizarre angle before righting itself with a grotesque crack.

"Experience has taught me not to wear expensive clothes," V.V. sighed as he distastefully examined his shirt, now stained a mix of light yellow Cerebrospinal fluid, red blood and grayish brain matter.

"…Was it alright to let the enemy master go?"

The voice that once more spoke behind V.V. seemed dissatisfied as its source revealed itself.

A face so beautiful it almost seemed feminine, framed by tangled, wavy brown hair, marred only slightly by the surly expression it wore; a form-fitting, gleaming breastplate covered by a vast, deep-blue cloak; a large, elaborate shield emblazoned with countless images and symbols; an ashen spear ending in a tapered, bladed spearhead—this was Servant Lancer, the servant deemed fitting by Lord Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi.

"I could have killed him right there," Lancer muttered.

"It's better that he think that I am dead," V.V. replied with a smile. "If word gets out, it will be easier for me to act. I don't mind getting shot once or twice if it helps." Brushing himself off, V.V. walked over to the metallic box the soldiers had unloaded. Putting a hand on the lid, he pried the lid open slightly, instantly releasing a burst of cold air.

Satisfied, he closed the lid against with a smile. "As long as my precious cargo remains, they can shoot me all they want."

V.V. held up his palm and the command seals engraved on them and chuckled.

It seemed the Holy Grail had a sense of humor, for it had given him a command seal in the form of the two "wings" of the geass symbol, bisected by what looked like a spear. It also served as a careful reminder—the level of Lancer's skills were not reflective of a master Magus such as Kayneth Archibald El-Melloi, but of someone unskilled in magecraft such as V.V. Against the "real" magus who would be fighting, V.V. would be at a disadvantage.

If the enemy masters thought he was dead, it would be all the more useful for him.

"Tch." Annoyed but compliant, Lancer idly twirled his spear before resting it on his shoulder.

"So what now, Master? When do we start fighting?"

V.V. smiled. "In due time, Lancer. But for now, let's meet Sir Bismark. There are a few things I'd like to borrow."

The silence on the rented Mitsubishi was heavy, like lead.

To be fair, Emiya Kiritsugu conceded, rides with Maiya were generally punctuated with long periods of silence.

Nevertheless, today Kiritsugu felt as if the silence was a lot more accusatory than normal.

He could hardly blame her.

Not only had he hesitated, he had almost turned a near-flawless operation into a disaster when he had missed. The Magus Killer of Seven years ago would not have done that.

It wasn't that his logic failed—Kiritsugu was absolutely sure he should have pulled the trigger.

It was just that Emiya Kiritsugu had been unable to do what the Magus Killer would have done in an instant.

Perhaps that was a problem. That Emiya Kiritsugu and the Magus Killer, once a single individual, had become two individuals. The Magus Killer was simply a title. He had never changed.

It was Kiritsugu who had changed.

"You've become too human."

Kiritsugu looked up in surprise.

"Humans are not meant to kill other humans," Maiya spoke as she changed lanes. "Your time with the Von Einzberns have made you too human."

Kiritsugu said nothing. It was true. In seven years, the handgun that had been carefully cultivated for two decades had been allowed to rust.

How could he have expected a gun to shoot straight if he hadn't oiled or maintained it?

And yet, why did he feel so reluctant to clean it again?

He was interrupted in his indecision by a ring on his prepaid phone.

"Mr. Fujimura?"

The old, scratchy voice on the other side of the phone (that in my head sounds Italian despite all evidence to the contrary) sounded way too energetic for a man of Raiga Fujimura's age. "I told you, Kiritsugu, call me Raiga. How'd it go?"

"Got him. I'm on my way to rendezvous with your subordinate now."

"Alright, I've given Sasaki all the documentation you'll need to get into any facility or building under my control. Consider it your second home, eh?"

"You really don't need to—"

"'Ey don't 'really don't need to' me, Kiritsugu, you saved my life at Vladivostok. For God's sakes, I'd marry my daughter to you if you weren't already married and if I wanted to kill you."

"You're too kind," Kiritsugu managed with a chuckle.

"Sasaki will be waiting for you at the foot of the complex. Wave the ID I gave you and the guards should let you through."

"Alright, thank you for your help, Mr. Fuj—Raiga."

"No problem. I have no idea what you're doing…but just call me if you need any help!"

As Kiritsugu closed the cheap prepaid flip-phone, he allowed himself a small smile. Fujimura Raiga's excitable personality was slightly infectious.

Closing his eyes, Kiritsugu leaned back in his seat as he pulled out the .50's magazine and examined a bullet. The burnished shell showed suggested signs of recent construction.

Unlike the stock bullets to the .50, these bullets had been modified. Each held the ground remnants of one of Kiritsugu's ribs—Emiya Kiritsugu's most powerful mystic code, the Origin Bullets.

Bound to Emiya Kiritsugu's origin—severing and binding—the meaning of Kiritsugu (切嗣). Not separating and reconnecting, like cutting and mending a wire, but severing and binding, like cutting and tying a rope into a knot—that is, to fundamentally alter the structure and purpose.

Its effect on the human body was devastating. Capillaries, nerves, muscles fibers would be wrapped into a nonfunctional mess. Against a magus with a working magic circuit system, in essence a vestigial nervous system, it was debilitating. Any magic circuit under use at the point of impact would be irreversibly and irretrievably rendered unusable.

There was no way the enemy master had survived. If the bullet had hit the master's magecraft-based defenses, the master would be debilitated for life. If the bullet had hit the master—Kiritsugu had never met a human being that had survived being shot by the Barrett.

One master is down. I only need to this five more times.

He would pick up the access codes from Fujimura's assistant, and then he would return to Fuyuki.

He would do everything and anything to win the Holy Grail War.

He would pull the trigger five times, ten times, a hundred times..

He would kill everyone in his way, no matter who it was.

He would obtain the holy grail, no matter the cost.

And then he would never have to kill ever again.

Sunday, February 6th, 2010 A.T.B., 1005 Hours Tokyo Time

Unspecified Location, Japanese Countryside, Nation of Japan

"…The Eunuchs are reluctant to offer any ground help to us. They believe that committing troops into a ground engagement in Japan would reap few benefits. Of course, the thing they fear more are their loyal troops leaving the capital."

"As I expected. Start hinting that they will get a more favorable standing in the Sakuradite market should they involve themselves."

"Of course, Mr. Fujimura. Sawasaki out."

Fujimura Raiga turned silently away as the video screen returned to its passive screen saver, a rather stereotypical image of Mt. Fuji. Negotiations were always more difficult on the losing side—and, as much as it hurt Raiga to admit it, the JSDF was on the losing side.

"…Was it successful?"

"Afraid not, Yohane," Raiga replied tersely as his assistant and bodyguard, Yohane, fell in behind him.

A group of old guard soldiers saluted as Raiga and Yohane walked down the length of the hall and through the gate that led to the main situation room.

Almost instantly, the simplistic wood-and-paper screens were replaced with LCD screens.

JSDF and Old Guard officers intermingled freely, dark green and khaki green uniforms forming an ever-shifting camouflage pattern.

Hidden in the Japanese countryside, this was the true headquarters of the Japanese military. High Command officers debated strategies at various maps and projection screens; supply officers and quartermasters made feverish calls; technicians cross-examined, rewound and cross-examined again videos of the new humanoid robot that had been seen wrecking the Southern Army on Newsline; clerks ran back and forth with new memos and print-outs.

And at the center was Genbu Kururugi—Prime Minister of the Diet, leader of Kyoto House, Commander-in-chief of the JSDF and de facto leader of Japan.

For someone who didn't know Kururugi personally, he looked a man calmly assessing the situation, a leader still confident in ultimate victory despite a few early defeats.

Yet Fujimura Raiga was not afforded such luxury. Though Genbu's figure was indeed straight as a ramrod, something about his confident pose looked almost forced. The slight quivering of the lip and the rapid blinking was enough for Raiga to know that Genbu Kururugi was a man under pressure.

Walking quietly through the crowd, Raiga inclined his head towards Genbu, a measure of respect for a man over a decade his junior .

"I was just speaking with Atsushi Sawasaki in Luoyang," Raiga said quietly.

"What news?"

"The High Eunuchs that control China are not willing to commit troops without some guarantee of returns should they succeed such as a Sakuradite kickback or a discount."

"Those bats have sucked China clean, and now they wish to suck Japan clean? I will give them nothing more than what I have offered."

Raiga closed his eyes.

"It is hard to make allies when you are on the losing side, Prime Minister."

Genbu remained unmoved. "There will be no more concessions to the Chinese."

"In that case," Raiga replied, "Sawasaki and the Eunuchs suggested negotiations with Britannia in which you would guarantee the export of a certain percentage of all Sakuradite profits to Britannia in all times. That would be enough to mollify the Britannian Imperial Senate—"

"There will be no negotiations."

Undeterred, Raiga continued. "Prime Minister, our nation is losing this war—"

"But it is not defeated," Genbu interrupted in a steely tone.

"Our army is slowly being driven out of Tokyo, and we have suffered severe defeats in southern Honshu and Hokkaido, prime minister—"

"Fujimura, what is Japan? Is it its army?"

"Prime Minister—"

"Japan is its people, Fujimura. The Emperor of Britannia has insulted the honor of the nation of Japan and its people with this war. And the war will not end until Britannia has atoned for its dishonor."

Fujimura stared. "…even should our army be defeated and our citizenry be starving?"

Genbu's expression looked almost made of stone.

"As long as a single person who calls themselves Japanese lives, Japan has not been defeated!"

"…You would rather Japan and all its countrymen perish in battle before you are willing to forgive a slight to your honor?"

Genbu walked to the window and looked outside. Hidden in the countryside, the large complex was surrounded by farmer's fields—left fallow after the harvest, but ready for replanting in a few months.

"And what would you rather the Japanese do? Flee elsewhere, where they will be treated as stateless citizens and dirt? Flee to Europe and be shut up in the Ghettos like the Roma and Jews? Flee to the Middle Eastern Federation and their religious wars? Or would you rather we send them to the Chinese Federation, where they will live on the basis of the whims of men who are not men like the rest of that wretched people?! I would rather die than be forced into such extremes, and I would die before the Japanese people are forced into depravity such as that."

Fujimura said nothing. To some extent, Genbu was right—the Japanese would be relegated to a second class position if Japan fell—like the Chechnyans, or Tibetans, or Gypsies, or the Numbers.

But that Kururugi was willing to kill every person who called themselves Japanese before that happened—was that right?

Genbu Kururugi wasn't wrong—a nation is determined not by its borders, or by its army, but by its people. A country would exist as long as somebody called themselves Japanese.

So was not Genbu Kururugi destroying his country by committing its people to an unwinnable fight to the death?

Raiga shook his head. That was not true. Japan still had many great generals and the bulk of its force. Though the Britannias had introduced new technology, the advantage they conferred, like that of tanks in the Great European War, was only temporary. If Japan held on long enough, it could be able to win. It was defeatism to assume defeat before the battle is over.

"…Prime Minister, it is, however, a fact that the Britannians are closing in on your family complex near Mt. Fuji."

Kururugi said nothing. It was, after all, true. While the JSDF under General Oguchi was holding some semblance of its own in street-to-street fighting, the Britannians had made rapid progress outside of the Tokyo urban sprawl. At current projections, Britannian forces would reach the Kururugi compound in two days.

"It may be safer to evacuate everyone there to the countryside with us." Raiga allowed a bit of urgency to show in his voice. After all, his daughter, not to mention Suzaku's son and the two political hostages were at the Kururugi clan compound.

"…I have already ordered Sergeant Kikuchi to evacuate everyone at my family compound. Princess Kaguya will be sent to Osakabe in Shikoku. I will have Taiga and Suzaku brought back here."

Raiga concealed his sigh of relief. "Excellent. And where will the Britannian Prince and Princess stay?"

For a moment, Genbu looked a little furtive before closing his eyes. "There is no place for the Britannian Prince and Princess here."

"Then will you send them to live with Osakabe or the others?"

"…There is no place on the Helicopters for a Britannian."

It took a few moments for Raiga to understand the implication.

Raiga's pipe clattered to the ground. "Genbu…you're going to…?"

Genbu looked away. "I will make sure your daughter will not witness it."

"Are you mad, Genbu?! They're children!"

"So were countless Japanese children who served as the hostages to enemy Daimyo. They ought to be proud that they are dying to atone for their nation's honor."

"And what about the Princess Sumeragi and her daughter in Britannia, who served as political hostages? Would you have them killed as well?"

"The Britannians are the ones who dishonorably attacked us—they have no reason to kill our hostages. And if they do, it will only serve to show their dishonor to the world!"

"Do you think the Britannians care for honor? Do you think they waited for an honorable opinion when they crushed the Gran Colombians a hundred years ago? Or the Spaniards or the Filipino insurgents?! Those children are your son's best friends for fuck's sakes—"

And then, with a loud bang, Genbu slammed a shaking fist onto a nearby table. "I will NOT allow someone to make a mockery of the honor of Japan while I am Prime Minister! The decision stands!"

Raiga closed his eyes as Genbu walked off. That was something Genbu Kururugi could not understand. For the man whose party had been elected for its hard-line attitude towards those who trampled Japan's honor abroad, there was no such thing as retreat. What Genbu Kururugi believed was as unmoving as Mt. Fuji, as unambiguous as black and white. For better or for worse, this was the man who led Japan.

But Raiga could not allow it.

Lelouch and Nunnally Vi Britannia were very minor members of royalty in Emperor Charles' vast family. However, they were the only things preventing Britannia from escalating the conflict. As of now, this war was a war between nations—in the era of supernations, such wars were normal, almost expected—skirmishes in Africa, the Caucasus, and Asia were considered by some political theorists to be a part of the "balance of power." As was the case in Annam, an extended engagement would eventually lead to loss of public support and the withdrawal of troops.

However, should the prince and princess be executed—with the murder of two members of royalty, children no less, Britannian opinion would be permanently turned against the Nation of Japan.

There would be no chance that domestic opinion would turn against the Britannian military.

It would essentially mean a life-and-death struggle between Japan and Britannia—a war Raiga suspected Japan could not win.

Reaching into his robe sleeve, Raiga removed his phone. For a moment, he hesitated.

In doing this, he would be acting directly against the prime minister, the head of the military.

He would be making enemies with the most powerful person in Japan.

But, compared with the possibility of the complete destruction of Japan—

Fujimura Raiga clicked the dial button.

Kururugi Family Compound

"Move the documents from the library on board the APCs! Burn or destroy anything that won't fit! We're lifting off in 25 minutes!"

Sergeant Kikuchi looked on the verge of a panic attack as he directed the various servants and soldiers, all of whom were moving or lifting everything from food supplies to weapons to books.

With a convoy waiting at the bottom of the hill, the Kururugi compound was preparing for evacuation.

"Geez, where is Sasaki when you need him?" Fujimura Taiga muttered to herself as she weaved through the knots of servants and soldiers-turned-porters like a vietnamese child running through the minefield that used to be the family farm.

"Probably run off to call his wife again," Taiga mused as she glanced across the veranda where Sergeant Kikuchi was doing what he could to organize the evacuation process.

At the moment, Sergeant Kikuchi seemed to be discussing something with another Old Guard soldier—almost arguing, by his expression of disbelief.

Now that she thought about, she hadn't in fact packed any of her own things. Turning around, she elbowed her way through the walkway towards the residential part of the complex.

With most of the servants devoted to moving the documents in the library, the residential section was almost deserted. It was almost lonely, the way the normally busy building was now almost devoid of life.

"Taiga?"

Taiga almost jumped as she heard the voice next to her.

"Oh, it's just you, Suzaku," Taiga remarked with a breath of relief. It seemed the Britannian boy and Nunnally were there as well. "What are you doing here?"

"Packing?"

Taiga turned to the Britannian Boy and Nunnally. "Then what about you two?"

"I'd pack my things if I had anything to pack," the Britannian boy replied darkly. Taiga looked away to hide her expression of irritation. This kid was smart, but he wasn't cute at all. It was like somebody had taken a lifetime's worth of periods and estrogen and bundled into one ten year old.

"Well hurry up, we've only got 25 minutes. You don't want to get left behind."

As the three disappeared into the building, Taiga looked around the empty hall. Though she only came here on holidays and when her father dragged her there, Taiga felt a sense of loss at seeing the rooms she had (however reluctantly) called home empty.

I guess I could come back when this is over…

"Milady?"

Taiga turned around as Sergeant Kikuchi walked in, his face slightly drawn.

"Are you alright, sergeant?"

Kikuchi flashed what he probably intended to be a smile. "Just a little under the weather. Milady, have you seen the Young Master?"

"Yeah, he's inside. He might have a lot of stuff to carry."

"Ah, I see. And are the Britannian children with him?"

Taiga blinked. It was unusual for anyone in the compound to ask about the location of Nunnally and her brother.

"Yeah."

Kikuchi managed a slightly-sweaty smile as he nodded to the soldier behind him.

"Thank you, milady. Would you like to head to the Convoy?"

"Nah, I still need to pack. I can take you to them if you want."

"That's fine," Kikuchi replied a little too quickly. "I'll have corporal Maeda escort you to the convoy."

"But I haven't packed yet—"

"I insist, milady." The urgency in Kikuchi's voice seemed unusual given the time remaining.

"I don't want to…" and then Taiga's voice trailed off as she realized something. There were no servants with Kikuchi, simply soldiers. And, in their hands were the rifles they had put down earlier. It was almost as if they were going into battle.

"…did you forget? We are here as hostages to Prime Minister Kururugi and the nation of Japan, to ensure Britannia will not invade, just as Princess Sumeragi was sent to Britannia to ensure Japan will not invade."

Taiga felt as if somebody had doused her with a bucket of water. Wait.

Sergeant Kikuchi hadn't been asking about Suzaku. He had been asking about Nunnally and the Britannian boy.

The soldiers at the Kururugi Compound were not JSDF. They were the Old Guard, the unofficial military of Japan.

Under the command of Kyoto House.

And the head of Kyoto House was Genbu Kururugi.

"Genbu Kururugi is a man of honor. If his honor is slighted, he will respond in kind."

Taiga looked into Sergeant Kikuchi's eyes, scared of what she would see. The normally serious but kind soldier's eyes were now hard, almost glassy. The men with him, too, held their weapons as if prepared to use them.

Taking a deep breath, Taiga took a step forwards, as if to go with Corporal Maeda. Sergeant Kikuchi seemed relieved—and then, spinning around, Taiga broke into a full sprint into the building.

The steps that led up to the Kururugi home seemed unending.

Sasaki Takasu mentally cursed whoever had decided against building an actual road up the mountain as opposed to a thousand goddamn steps.

An old guard officer turned, surprised, as Sasaki charged up the steps. "Sasaki, what—"

"Out of my way!"

Elbowing the soldier aside, Sasaki barreled up the steps with a gasp of breath as his hands tightened sweatily on the phone in his hands.

"The Prime Minister is planning on killing the hostages.

If he does that, this war will become unwinnable.

Take Taiga and those children and leave."

Sasaki glared at the servants and soldiers with suspicion in between breaths as he headed towards the end of the steps.

"There is nobody else I can trust in that facility but you, Sasaki!"

General Oguchi of the JSDF distrusted the old guard because they were, in essence, an autonomous private army—just like the Kwantung army that had started war with China and Britannia.

And, more importantly, they were not responsible to any chain of command, nor to anyone in office.

They were loyal only to who they saw as fitting—Kyoto House.

Those at the Kururugi Family Compound would be, naturally, loyal to Genbu Kururugi.

Reaching into his long coat for the handgun in his shoulder holster, Sasaki scrambled over the top of the stairs.

Right now, everybody in the compound, as far as Sasaki was concerned, was an enemy. He served the Fujimura group—anyone the Oyabun acted against was an enemy.

Running past the confused servants, Sasaki prayed he would arrive on time.

Suzaku Kururugi was almost knocked off his feet as, with a crash, the paper screen to his room was slammed aside.

"Tiger?!"

It was a testament to Fujimura Taiga's urgency that she ignored her much-hated nickname.

"Fujimura-san?" Nunnally exclaimed as she heard Taiga's panting.

Lelouch, as well, stared. "What—"

"Y…" Taiga took a deep breath. "You were right, Britannian—"

"—Lelouch!"

"—Genbu is trying to kill you!"

Suzaku looked up sharply, his eyes showing his obvious disbelief. "Father?!"

"Yes," Taiga panted as, with one smooth movement, she lifted Nunnally off her feet. "We need to go!"

"—Young Master!"

Turning around sharply, Taiga grabbed the Shinai that lay nearby and raised it—just as Sergeant Kikuchi barreled in, his breath ragged, followed by his men.

"Milady, young master, please step away from the Britannians at once!"

In alarm, Lelouch stumbled backwards—just as Suzaku stepped in front of him.

"…Sergeant, is this true?"

"What do you mean, young master?"

"That you're planning on killing Lelouch and Nunnally under my father's orders?"

For a moment, Sergeant Kikuchi remained silent—and then, breaking into a smile that held little substance, Kikuchi laughed. "Of course not. We are simply assigning them a different transport—"

"He's lying," Taiga snapped.

Sergeant Kikuchi stepped forwards. "It's true—"

"…Then give Fujimura-san your weapons," Lelouch demanded. "If you truly mean no harm to us, you will not need those weapons."

For a moment, Sergeant Kikuchi could simply stare. With a nod to his men, Kikuchi raised his own rifle as the soldier fanned out.

"Milady, young master, I insist you come with us."

In desperation, Taiga held her Shinai in front of her. It was, however, a futile effort. Meant to limit the damage of practice fights, the bamboo blade called a Shinai intentionally diffuses and weakens the force of a blow. Even the most somebody who could have qualified for the nationals such as Fujimura Taiga could do would be a bruise or two. The paper tiger-printed shinai that had kept her out of the nationals in the first place roared with a loud crack and little else. Slowly, the soldiers closed in nervously—and then, with another loud bang, a new shape crashed through the paper screen.

"Step Back!"

Never had Fujimura Taiga been so glad to see Takasu Sasaki as now as he stepped in, handgun in hand. Shoving his way through the soldiers, he stepped in front of Taiga, pointing his handgun at Kikuchi. "Drop your weapons!"

In response, Kikuchi and the soldiers raised their own guns. "Drop YOUR weapons!"

"Sasaki, they're trying to kill—"

"—I know," Sasaki murmured as he held his arm in front of Taiga, Suzaku and the others, forcefully pushing them back towards the back door. "STEP BACK," he barked as an Old Guard soldier stepped forwards tentatively.

"Milady, take these children and go. GET BACK!"

Taiga sounded afraid as she stepped back. "But—"

"I can't hold them here! YOU, DON'T MOVE!" Sasaki gritted his teeth. He was armed with a handgun against a group of soldiers with automatic weapons. Any calm individual would know that he had no chance. His shouting was so far scaring the soldiers into thinking he was a threat—but any minute, they would call his bluff.

"Go," he murmured as quickly as he could, "there are JSDF troops at the convoy. Either get to them or just get out of here."

"Sasaki—"

"GO, GODAMMIT!"

As Taiga turned around and ran, Kikuchi extended a hand.

"Wait—"

It happened in an instant. Sasaki raised his handgun with a shout. Shocked, one of the soldiers pulled the trigger by accident, discharging his rifle with a roar. The bullet, shot by accident, buried itself into the wall harmlessly. However, reacting to what sounded like hostile gunfire, someone else pulled a trigger—and then another, and another, and then yet another.

When the last of the rifles fell silent, most of the soldiers had already shot their full clip.

Sasaki Takasu stumbled against the wall, sliding slowly down, his handgun still tightly clamped in his hand.

It had not even been a fight.

For a moment, the soldiers could only stare. For most of them, this was the first time they had opened fire against a human being—and the first time they had seen a dying human up close. They could only stare silently at the man who lay writhing in front of their eyes.

"…Takasu shot first," Sergeant Kikuchi finally managed.

Of course, most of the assembled soldiers knew somewhere that it was probably not true.

An examination of the handgun clasped in the corpse's hand would probably show not a shot fired.

Yet they ignored it. Reloading their rifles, they nodded in silent agreement.

After all, this man was an assistant to Fujimura Raiga, a man most people knew to be the head of a Yakuza.

Would it not be easy to construe it as an attempt to gain power by holding Ms. Fujimura or young master Kururugi Hostage, filed by the valiant actions of the old guard?

They repeated the "facts" to each other and decided that their combined testimony was correct.

Even the man who had first pulled the trigger almost believed it.

United by the common bond of conspiracy, the soldiers agreed that what was important was to complete their mission and kill the Britannian children. That it killed those who might suspect the truth was only an added bonus.

Spreading out into groups of three, they fanned out as they notified their compatriots at the clan compound.

Ring ring…

The sound seemed so far away to Takasu Sasaki as he lay against the wall.

His own breath sounded far away, a ragged call in the distance.

Yet, dutifully, Sasaki reached into his pocket to remove his miraculously-untouched phone.

With weakening hands, he put the phone to his ear.

"Sasaki!"

"…Mr. Fujimura."

"Sasaki! Are you alright? What Happened?"

"…Sorry…I couldn't take them all the way."

"Where are they?"

"…Running."

"Where?! Sasaki, are you alright?!"

"Yeah…just feeling a little under the weather…"

Takasu Sasaki barely noticed that the phone had already fallen from his limp hand.

"Sasaki? Where are you?"

The distant murmurs of the phone irritated Sasaki. Did they have to be so loud when he was so tired?

Now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen his son and wife for a while.

With all the war business he had been dealing with, he had not been back to visit Yasuko and Ryuji for a while.

Just like his own father had not been back often for him.

It was decided then. He would return home and have dinner with his wife and child.

As soon as he woke up from this nap. Just a short res—

"Sasaki!"

Fujimura Raiga stared at his phone.

"Sir?"

Raiga turned to regard Yohane, who bowed respectfully. "Your car to the air force base is ready."

"Alright. Have you contacted my men?"

"Yes, they are setting off from Fuyuki, Nagoya and Narita towards the compound."

"Tell them to hurry up," Raiga snapped.

Sasaki had been the last person he could rely on at the Kururugi compound—the rest of them were Kururugi's men.

There would be nobody to protect those children—or his daughter.

Unless…

It wasn't a good idea to involve outsiders in this—but at the moment he had no choice.

Disconnecting the call, Raiga dialed a new set of numbers.

"Kiritsugu?"

"Young master! Where are you going?!"

"Crap," Fujimura Taiga muttered as, shouldering Nunnally, she ran past the surprised servant.

"Taiga, where are we going?!" Suzaku Kururugi took a fervent glance around the corner—and then ducked it back. "No good, soldiers."

Taiga couldn't answer, because she didn't know. Even if she escaped to the convoy, there was no guarantee that the old guard soldiers would not be able to pull anything.

Everyone in the compound seemed to be looking for them—and, without Sasaki, they had no means to defend themselves were they to be found. Even worse…

Suzaku turned to Lelouch with disbelief. "How are you out of breath already?!"

"Physical…endeavors…are not my thing."

"I TOLD you I could have trained you," Taiga said regretfully. With Nunnally blind and immobile and Lelouch physically inept—it would be impossible for them to reach the convoy downstairs in one run, a difficult feat even for just Taiga and Suzaku.

"Let's try to get to the edge of the compound," Taiga whispered as she pointed at a nearby shed. "If we go down the woods, we might reach the convoy."

"…And then what?"

"…I don't know." Taiga glanced around the corner. There didn't seem to be anyone around. "But it's all we can do, right?"

Suzaku nodded. "Yeah, let's do it."

"I'll go first." Looking around the corner, Taiga sprinted faster than she ever thought possible. Looking back, she nodded to Suzaku. Without getting ready, Suzaku broke into a dead spring, crossing safely. Lastly, Taiga nodded to Lelouch.

"Come on. It's just you now."

"…alright." Lelouch took a deep breath as he assumed what he probably thought was a sprinter's pose.

Suzaku put his face in his hands. "He doesn't realize how stupid he looks, right?"

And then, huffing and puffing, Lelouch ran faster than he ever had in his life.

Which wasn't saying much.

"Too slow," Suzaku muttered as the dark-haired britannian sputtered across the dirt—and then tripped. For a moment, he looked precariously balanced between a full frontal dive and a sprint—and then he began to fall.

"Shit!" Reaching out, Suzaku quickly grabbed Lelouch's outstretched hand and dragged him across—

"Who's there?!"

Taiga felt her heart stop.

"…You see something, Mikado?"

Say it was your imagination say it was your imagination say it was—

"Yeah…let's go."

Goddamit.

Taiga looked around. If they made a run on the other side—

"Go around both sides. I'll cover you."

Mentally, Taiga cursed military efficiency.

"What are we going to do?" Suzaku looked up at Taiga, his face now clouded with fear.

The sound of footsteps was closing in.

Taiga gritted her teeth as she lowered Nunnally into Suzaku's hands.

"Suzaku, Lelouch, when I say go, I'm going to run at the guy on the right side. We're not the ones they want anyway. As soon as I do, run, alright?"

"But Tiger…"

Taiga grinned reassuringly. "They don't want to kill us anyway, right?"

"Yeah, thanks," Lelouch muttered quietly.

Taking a deep breath, Taiga prepared to run as she raised three fingers.

"3..."

"2…"

And then one of the soldier spoke, his voice alert. "—who's there?! Co—"

A sound that resembled polite cough was followed shortly by the sound of a body falling to the ground.

"Mikado, who—augh—" And then one of the soldier collapsed to the ground, a noticeable, slightly bloody hole in the side of his head.

—Taiga smothered a gasp—

"Hostiles in the compound! Hostiles in the compound! Weapons Free!"

And suddenly the Kururugi Family Compound was a battleground.

"We've been compromised. Silencers off, weapons Free!"

"Go, go, go!"

"You heard him men, let's get in there," Captain Mantarankis' voice said from the headset.

Rising up from the bushes, Private Paul Jackson of the Queen's Rangers squeezed off a burst of his rifle as the Rangers leapt out of their hiding places.

Dammit…we were so close.

The convoy at the base of the complex had been neutralized without a hitch, but it seemed like somebody had screwed up.

"Get down!"

Instinctively, Jackson ducked—just as a burst from Corporal Kusui brought down the soldier who had rushed at him out of nowhere with what looked like an actual katana.

"These are paramilitary guys," the briefing had said. "They're what's left of the army we fought in '41." They looked the part too—unlike the JSDF, who wore the dark green of the Britannian military, these soldiers wore a khaki green that looked several decades obsolete.

Unlike the JSDF who had been guarding the convoy and Tokyo Tower, these soldiers seemed relatively lightly armed and armored.

However, they fought with a ferocity that took the Rangers aback.

"These guys are goddamn animals," Jackson muttered.

"There's a Chinese proverb that 'you can't get the tiger cubs without going into the tiger's den,'" Kusui replied.

"What the hell are you planning on doing with a tiger cub?"

"Ask the chinese," Kusui replied with a shrug Jackson could almost hear.

"I hope our tiger cub is worth it."

It was a reasonably ambitious plan. Attack Japanese Prime Minister Kururugi's family compound and capture his family. It wasn't technically very Geneva Convention-y, but it would serve to protect the lives of the Britannian Prince and Princess held hostage in Japan—if they weren't dead already.

"This isn't the most solid plan I've heard of," Jackson remarked. "If Prime Minister Kururugi's son isn't here—or if we accidentally shoot them, we've pretty much screwed over the hostages."

"If they're not dead already," Kusui muttered.

Captain Mantarankis ducked behind a building as he reloaded. "I heard House Ashford put a lot of pressure on the military to do this."

"…I guess they're just trying to hold onto what power they have left," Kusui suggested. House Ashford—the former minor noble house that had been the backer to Empress (and former Knight of Two) Marianne vi Britannia. With her assassination, house Ashford had lost a large amount of influence, and the exile of Marianne's two children to Japan had put an end to house Ashford's political power. If the prince and princess died in Japan, House Ashford would lose all chance of regaining its former power.

Kusui spat. "So this is a political battle?"

"Welcome to Britannia," Mantarakis replied. "Now heads up. We're moving in."

"Roger, covering you."

Suzaku Kururugi ran through the battle as if in a daze.

With a gurgle, an Old Guard soldier who had always guarded the complex entrance fell to the ground, scrabbling at the throat that no longer functioned.

In a blast of torn paper, wood and debris, a grenade explosion tore a hole in the wall of the complex, catching one of the masked Britannian soldiers in its wake.

Under sustained fire, the decorative rock in the garden Suzaku had always practiced in crumbled as wounded Japanese Soldier huddled, holding his head in his hands.

Several servants ran through the debris, one of them tripping as, shot in the knee, she fell to the ground.

This was the home in which Suzaku had lived in all his life.

He could barely understand what was happening—his father's men were trying to kill Lelouch and Nunnally, while the Britannians were trying to kill them.

Suddenly, the world went white, and Suzaku was blasted off his feet.

When he opened his eyes, he was on his side.

He felt something grabbing his hand, pulling insistently in the ringing silence.

Lelouch?

The dark-haired Britannian was, indeed, trying to lift him up, yelling something that Suzaku couldn't hear over the ringing.

Somewhere, he felt like laughing. Lelouch could barely do a push-up—there was no way he would be able to lift Suzaku.

And then somebody lifted him up, and the ringing faded.

Fujimura Taiga patted his head as she stare at him with concern. "You alright?!"

"Yeah," Suzaku managed unsteadily as he scrambled to his feet.

"Let's go! We have to get to the Safehouse!"

Back to the safehouse again?

It did make sense. A safehouse was meant for a situation like this.

Picking himself up, Suzaku ran as men bled and died all around them.

As he ran past the veranda, Suzaku blinked with surprise as he recognized Sergeant Kikuchi, huddling behind a stone lamp.

For a moment, the two looked into each other's eyes as Kikuchi's eyes lit up with recognition.

In those eyes, Suzaku could not see excitement—or bravery, or anything he imagine'd he'd feel. All he saw were fear; a fear so strong that it could compel a man to kill another.

Recognizing Suzaku, Kikuchi stood up, reaching out and beckoning with his hand—and then he fell, his mouth half open in an expression of shock as a bullet struck him in the side of the head.

For less than a second, Suzaku saw shock, dismay, fear in Kikuchi's eyes, before they faded away.

Suzaku Kururugi kept running as the body fell to the floor.

Is this war?

When he was younger, he had always pretend to be a Japanese soldier, fighting valiantly against a more advanced and numerous enemy on the islands of Japan, or a Samurai defending the honor of his house.

To him, War had always been out there—in the field, in islands far away, elsewhere.

But now war was in his own backyard.

And suddenly, Suzaku was not sure who or what he wanted to be.

"YeAAAAAaAAHHH—"

With a blood-curling shout, the Japanese soldier charged forwards, swinging his empty rifle like a bludgeon.

Ducking under the blow, Private Jackson grabbed the muzzle of his rifle and thrust upwards with his rifle, striking the soldier in the chin. As the soldier reeled, Jackson swung his rifle around and squeezed a shot into the soldier's chest. The man convulsed for a moment before laying still.

"These guys are maniacs," Corporal Kusui exclaimed with a gasp.

In terms of pure tactics, these soldiers were not stunningly good—screaming was a tactic whose psychological value had long since been outweighed in most cases by the tactical disadvantages it conferred. However, in house-to-house, close-range fighting, these irregulars were fearsome opponents, readily switching to their antiquated swords at close range. It wasn't generally successful, but Jackson already had way too many close misses.

Something caught the corner of his eye.

"Isn't that—"

There were evidently many civilians in the facility—but he had yet to see any children.

"Captain, isn't that—"

Captain Mantarankis paused in between bursts. "I'm busy, Private, what is it?"

"I think I just saw a group of children run into that building!"

"Good man! Kusui and Welch are a bit busy here! Take Carson and Gendry and check on them! Make sure not to harm them!"

"Of course," Paul replied as he checked the ammunition on his rifle. "Let's go!"

Countless fingers of light reached through the holes in the paper screens into the main building, illuminating the dancing clouds of dust motes.

A thick layer of dust obscured the interior, as if the building had been abandoned for years.

In the main hall, a soldier was slumped against a pillar, his eyes glassy as his hands cradled the gray-and-red matter that was slowly leaking out of his stomach.

"Sorry," Taiga muttered as she reached down and grabbed the katana that lay near the soldier had evidently attempted to use. Judging by the lack of blood and the state of the soldier, it had been unsuccessful.

Even through the torn or pockmarked paper screens, the sound of gunfire seemed a little duller. The power had long since been gone, and so many of the rooms lurked in half-darkness as, shouldering Nunnally, Taiga half-ran through the murky, unfriendly hallways that, only a few hours ago, had been home.

Turning a corner with Suzaku and Lelouch tightly in tow, Taiga stopped short.

"What—"

It was a scene that could only be described as a massacre. The closed safe-room door was pockmarked, as if somebody had attempted to attack it. Though damaged, the outer passkey system blinked red, meaning the door was locked.

And, scattered around it, were the motionless bodies of several servants and soldiers, their expressions of terror frozen on their faces.

Lelouch bit his lower lip grimly. "Suzaku, you didn't close the safe house earlier, did you?"

"No, I wanted to get rid of the Natto smell."

Taiga nodded slowly. "…Then who closed it?"

Lelouch's eyes narrows as he looked at the bodies—and the broken Katana that lay near one of the soldier's bodies.

"These soldiers were trying to get into the safe room. Somebody must have locked themselves in."

Suzaku stared.

"How—"

Taiga turned. "What is it?"

"Only Father and I know the passkey to the safe-room. How are they planning on getting out with the passkey?"

Lelouch laughed darkly. "…They weren't thinking about that when they went in, did they?"

Stepping around the dead bodies, Suzaku walked over to the intercom. Somehow, despite the bullet holes, the console seemed largely unharmed.

"Is anyone inside?"

A scratchy voice responded, one that Suzaku recognized as that of a servant. "…Is that you, Young master?"

"Yes," Suzaku responded. "Are you guys alright?"

"Yes, young master. The safe house camera is broken. Are the Britannians gone?"

"No, that's why we want to get in," Suzaku responded as he reached out to type in the passcode—and stopped. The key console, unlike the intercom, was destroyed, a smoking mess of burnt plastic and wires. "Guys, I'm going to tell you the passcode to open the door, can you open it and let us in?"

The short moment of silence seemed all the more longer as the sounds of battle roared around them . Finally, the intercom crackled again.

"Yes, Young Master. Please give us the code."

Taking a deep breath, Suzaku closed his eyes as he began to recite a seemingly random set of numbers. "3296234334807."

"…Please leave, young master."

Suzaku blinked. "…what?"

"Please leave, young master. We are full, and we cannot take any others."

Lelouch tried the intercom. "Surely you have space for a young girl and three children?"

"…perhaps we do," the voice on the intercom replied, "but the outside camera is destroyed, and we cannot see outside the safe. There may be a group of Britannian soldiers waiting outside waiting to come in and kill us all."

"It's only us," Suzaku replied angrily.

"…Please leave, young master."

"You selfish bastards, you just wanted the code so you could escape when you wanted, didn't you?!" Taiga roared as she held down the intercom.

"…milady, we will not open the door. Please find your own place to hide."

"…I can't believe it," Suzaku muttered to himself. Watching nearby, Lelouch could sympathize. To be locked out of your own shelter by your own servants…it was most certainly a betrayal few would expect. Those inside had been far too afraid to open the blast door and let in the soldiers and servants that now lay sprawled across the floor, and it seemed they had no plans to let in even the boy whose father they served.

Out of nowhere, Taiga raised the Katana she had taken of the fallen Japanese soldier. With a shout of anger, she slashed down at the safe room door. There was a loud clang, but the door held firm. Raising the sword above her again with her trained stance, Taiga charged forwards once more, swinging down the blade. Once more, the door resounded with a clang.

And then, on the third time, the katana snapped, its blade cracking off and falling to the ground.

"It's useless," Lelouch advised. For a door meant to defend against a hand grenade, a light bladed weapon like a Katana would be beyond useless.

There had to be another way to get into the safehouse—

"Freeze!"

And then Lelouch froze as he heard the cry in English—the language he had simultaneously hoped to hear and yet hoped to never hear again.

Slowly, Lelouch turned—to face the three uniformed, masked men who stood in the hallway, their rifles at their ready.

Suzaku and Taiga spun around, Taiga holding the fragment of the katana blade in front of her.

"It's alright," a soldier on the side said in a reassuring tone as he stepped forwards, "we don't want to hurt you."

The tone apparently had not gotten through to Taiga, as she let down Nunnally with a shrug and stepped in front of them.

"No," she said loudly in English.

For a moment, the officer seemed a little dumbfounded.

"Look, there's no chance you can win here, and we don't want to harm you—"

"No," Taiga responded, even louder. Leaning over to Lelouch, she muttered, "How do you say 'what do you want?'"

"Did you not learn English in high school?"

"I'm not very good at it, goddamit."

"Goddamn Jackson, they don't even know what I'm saying anyway," the officer at the front said to the sodleir as he scratched his head and reached behind him—

"Alright alright, we understand you," Lelouch responded in English as he quickly stepped around Taiga. "I'll tell her to put down her weapons."

Slowly, with a tone of wonder, Jackson pulled off his mask and raised his goggles, revealing a scruffy-looking face. "…Hey…you're Britannian aren't you?"

"Yeah," Lelouch replied.

The officer blinked. "Pretty high-class judging by the accent too. Don't tell me you're—"

And then a gunshot.

Jackson and the other soldier turned around as the officer fell facefirst into the ground, a bullet hole in the back of his head.

Gasping, Taiga moved to cover Nunnally's eyes, perhaps forgetting she couldn't see anyway—

Jackson and the other Britannian soldier turned around—a millisecond too late. The other Britannian soldier's fell to the ground, clutching at his chest, brought down by another burst of gunfire.

Private Paul Jackson spun around.

How had he gotten past the guys watching the entrance?!

In front of him, he could see a man in what looked like a dark trench coat, cradling what looked like an Austrian Steyr AUG in its long-barreled configuration—strange, considering the range[5].

Jackson moved to raise his AR—but, after years of fighting, he already knew he would not raise his rifle fast enough.

Please let it be fast enough…

With all his strength, he raised the rifle, feeling the butt slam against his shoulder—and then he felt a dull impact in his chest.

Damn…it…

His mouth opened involuntarily in a gasp as he felt a white needle in his chest.

And then he remembered.

In the chaos of preparation, he had forgotten to send the picture he had taken of Tokyo Tower to his children back at home.

They would surely be disappointed, wouldn't they?

Emiya Kiritsugu calmly reloaded his AUG as he stepped over the bodies of the Queen's Rangers as he drily regarded the ragtag group of children.

"Fujimura Taiga?"

Taiga nodded silently as she raised her broken sword.

"Your father sent me to get you."

"Maiya, I've retrieved the targets," Kiritsugu said into his headset as he walked through the complex with quick strides. The bodies of two Rangers lay on the floor where they had attempted to stop Kiritsugu.

"Alright, on my way," Maiya's voice replied.

The volume of gunfire had definitely decreased. That would make things difficult.

With Raiga's blueprints and the Japanese paramilitary and the Britannian Rangers fighting throughout the complex, it hadn't been very difficult for Kiritsugu to sneak through.

Now that the fighting was dying down, it would be more difficult to escape without being discovered.

Maiya would be arriving soon with her commandeered escape ride, but until then…

With a rather unnecessary kick, three rangers charged in over the paper screen door they had just knocked down.

"Carson! Jackso—"

Without hesitation, Kiritsugu raised his AUG and fired two quick bursts. Two rangers fell, one with a pained groan—but a second, reacting quickly, ducked back firing as he yelled into his headset.

"Hostiles! Hostiles in the main building—" Gritting his teeth, Kiritsugu cut down the soldier with a second burst.

Of course, he knew it was too late.

The Queen's Rangers were not your average infantry—they were not the most elite of the Britannian special forces, but they were pretty high up there.

There was no doubt they would be assaulting the building soon.

Turning, he looked over his new charges, most of which regarded him with obvious suspicion.

A teenage girl and three children, one of which was also blind and crippled.

A ragtag band of child soldiers that even the most desperate of African rebel leaders wouldn't resort to using.

In the past, he had worked with child soldiers—despite the high attrition rate among child soldiers, the survivors were vicious fighters, skilled in subterfuge and easily-trained.

It wasn't really that he had stopped working with child soldiers—in the underworld, you dealt with many unsavory characters. Maiya had simply grown too old to be considered a child soldier.

Kiritsugu looked at the young girl on Fujimura Taiga's back. Somehow, though they looked nothing alike, Kiritsugu could almost see Ilya's face.

He wasn't sure he would be able to do it again.

Not like I can do it right now anyway.

These four, after all, were the very reason he was here.

"Go back into the building," Kiritsugu said quietly. "Maiya will come and pick you up soon."

The Britannian boy glared, slightly petulantly. "How do we know who she is? What if she doesn't? What if the soldiers get here first?"

Kiritsugu hid his annoyance. This kind of child was annoying to deal with.

"If the soldiers get there first, hide."

Taiga's eyes narrowed. "And what if they find us?"

"Then run."

"And what if we can no longer run?"

Reaching into his coat, he withdrew a small handgun—a small holdout pistol, a small weapon for emergencies. With a short flick, he tossed the gun towards Taiga, whose expression of horror was evident.

Walking over to the Taiga, Kiritsugu moved her hand to the safety.

"Safety's here. Flip off, point and shoot. Can you do that?"

Taiga nodded mutely.

"Good."

Raising his rifle in front of him, Kiritsugu walked towards the entrance.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Suzaku shouted.

"Buying some time."

"Move, move, move! Switch to Thermal, I'll cover you!"

Taking a quick glance out the damaged window frame, Emiya Kiritsugu felt a grudging approval.

The Queen's Rangers were, after all, elites. They moved in small leap-frogging squads, methodically moving up to secure land. It was hardly surprising that even the relatively well-trained Old Guard paramilitary had been defeated.

In a straight gun-fight, even with much better odds, Kiritsugu would probably lose.

He was an assassin, not a soldier.

However, he was also a magus.

Pulling open a bullet-marked screen door, Kiritsugu stepped in and closed the screen behind him. Reaching out a gloved finger, he poked a hole in the paper screen door for convenient viewing.

The sound of muffled footsteps grew closer on the wooden floor.

Closing his eyes, he muttered, "Time alter—double stagnate."

Almost immediately, the heat drained away from his body as the world suddenly brightened.

The Emiya family had boasted four generations of magus before Emiya Kiritsugu.

Like all magus, the Emiya had aspired to reaching Akasha—and the way they sought to reach their answer was through the manipulation of time. Of course, it does not imply time modification such as the ability to go back in time or reverse the effects of causality. The magecraft of the Emiya clan deals with the stagnation and acceleration of time—the acceleration of the passing of time, already theoretically possible through science, and the stagnation of the passing of time.

As Akasha dictated both the beginning and the end of the universe, it theoretically would be possible to reach Akasha by infinitely accelerating time in a certain area past the end of the universe into Akasha.

Of course, Emiya Kiritsugu aspired to nothing as ambitious as Akasha. The magecraft of the Emiya had no appeal to Kiritsugu unless they could be used on the battlefield.

Normally, the magecraft of the Emiya required large-scale preparations in a given area that would not be practical in a combat situation.

However, Kiritsugu had designed a modification of the bounded field that could be limited to his own body, thus lowering both the prana requirement and preparation time.

This was one of its results.

By stagnating time within his own body, Kiritsugu could lower the rate of the individual functions and chemical reactions within the body—the beating of the heart, the movement of the muscles, the circulation of blood, the release of body heat.

Rather hurriedly, the three shapes rapidly walked past Kiritsugu.

The darkness was far brighter for Kiritsugu—with twice the normal of light reaching Kiritsugu's retinas, he received the added benefit of night vision, even in the dark Kururugi compound.

As soon as the three shapes walked past, Kiritsugu closed his eyes once more.

"…Release alter."

The return hit Kiritsugu in a blast of pain. Kiritsugu had slowed down time in a bounded field limited to his body. Once the field had dissipated, the time within his body would attempt to resynchronize.

The heart instantly beat at double the time, forcing the blood that had slowly stopped moving back into action, putting stress on blood vessels unused to the pressure.

To Kiritsugu it was like somebody had slammed his whole body with a sledgehammer.

Ignoring the pain, though, his hands tightened on his AUG as he took a deep breath—and then, crashing out from the screen door, he faced the shocked rangers. With a roar, the AUG struggled against his shoulder as he brought down the three rangers.

As the last ranger fell, he straightened up.

The Rangers could have done little to prevent it. Magecraft aside, the Rangers were not familiar with Japanese Architecture.

Japanese society has been traditionally shaped by countless natural disasters from earthquakes to tsunamis to typhoons. As such, Japanese architecture is built around practicality. Screens and walls are built of accessible, cheap materials such as wood and paper; aesthetics are tailored to a similarity to the surroundings, unlike the stone houses of Europe or the great pillars of China.

What the Queen's Rangers probably did not realize was that walls in Japanese architecture are not as immobile as those of Britannian homes. Japanese walls bear almost no weight, and serve as little more than moveable partitions; to an unpracticed eye, screen doors often looked nearly indistinguishable from the walls. Without a response from their thermal sights, the rangers had no way to know that Kiritsugu had been hiding behind one of the walls.

"What was that?!"

"Wilkins, Vance and Tayshawn are down!"

"Hostile across the room!"

Kiritsugu cursed. Another problem with Japanese walls was that they weren't good at insulating or dissipating heat inside the building. Having disengaged accel, his heat signature was now visible to the rangers.

Muzzle Flashlights shone against the hallway as Kiritsugu crouched—

The three rangers turned the corner, rifles up.

The target was almost ten meters away, with his weapon lowered—hardly an issue.

"Weapons Free!"

The lead ranger raised his rifle as, throwing aside his rifle, the man reached into his coat and began to run—

"Time Alter - Double Accel."

And then the man was right in front of them.

"What—"

The dark corridor was lit up with the flash of gunfire as the Rangers crumpled soundlessly.

Kiritsugu walked among the bodies, prodding them with his Calico M950 submachine gun as he winced.

Time Alter didn't simply apply to the stagnation of time—it applied to the acceleration of it. By increasing the speed by which Kiritsugu's body systems worked, his reflexes and movement could be boosted, at least temporarily, to inhuman speed—enough to cross ten meters in the fraction of a second.

Kiritsugu took the silence to push a few bullets into the M950's magazine.

Mounted with a helical magazine unique to the calico series, the Calico M950 almost looked like a children's water gun with its top-mounted barrel magazine, an additional weight that merited a foregrip.

On the other hand, the M950 also conferred a rather large clip size of fifty bullets and compactness, both important values in Kiritsugu's value of work. Still in long-range configuration, the AUG wouldn't have been very useful at that range.

"Maiya, where are you?"

"On my way. There were Rangers at the APCs."

Kiritsugu winced as he began to run. The strain applied by Time acceleration was, if anything, even worse than that of time stagnation. He wouldn't be able to do this much longer. He would need to fight more conservatively from here out.

"Hurry it up. Pick up the targets first."

"Roger."

Fujimura Taiga looked down at the handgun in her shaking hands.

Somehow, she had felt fine holding the sword—but a gun was another thing.

The parry and dodge were as integral a part to Kendo as the strike. A sword could be used to defense. It can be used to parry the blows sent towards you or those you wished to defend.

A gun, though…

A gun was a weapon that could only be used to kill. You could not block or protect yourself from anyone who sought to harm you—you could only kill the person who wished you harm.

In a way, Taiga realized this was just her fear of responsibility—even if you hurt someone protecting yourself, you could rationalize it as an accidental act of self-defense.

When you pulled a trigger, you could only shoot to hurt—there would be no "unintentional" injury, even if it were justified under the law.

"Green, get back!"

"Hosti—eugh—"

The sounds of gunfire were drawing closer, along with shouts in Britannian.

"…We can't just stay here," Lelouch Lamperouge yelped in a voice that he felt sounded unnecessarily loud.

Suzaku, having picked up the broken sword Taiga had discarded, looked around nervously. "But that man told us…"

Lelouch tried not to lose his temper at Suzaku. In a calmer environment, he might have pointed out how silly that had sounded.

"That man. We don't even know his name or what his plans are. For all we know he might be waiting to kill all of us once he gets rid of the evidence."

Suzaku looked around the emptied hall nervously. "Where do we go then?"

Lelouch had no answer. Outside the complex, Japan was not the most Britannian-friendly place in the current climate, so that was most certainly a no-go for him and Nunnally—and despite his faith in Taiga and Suzaku's willingness to defend him, in reality neither of them realistically had the power to protect him or Nunnally from the Prime Minister.

Realistically, his best odds were with the Rangers—but given the state of his last interaction with his father…

Lelouch gritted his teeth. The Emperor had invaded Japan with full knowledge that he was going to kill Lelouch and Nunnally. Britannia under Charles never negotiated. And how could Lelouch expect a man who would send his son and daughter to their deaths to protect the lives of two Britannian children?

It seemed like that man, at the very least, was not allied with Britannia. Given he had not yet shot Lelouch and Nunnally, he wasn't any worse than anyone else in this battlefield.

If anything, he and Nunnally would slip away in the confusion—

"NO—"

And then, a sharp, low, rumbling boom.

With the crack of splintering wood and paper and a sharp scream from Taiga (and, a moment later, from Nunnally), a smoking figure smashed through the screen door, rolling across the ground as shards of wood and burning paper scattered through the air.

For a moment, it looked as if the Queen's Ranger had been killed by the Grenade blast. Half a second later, though, he rolled around as he turned to face the people in the room.

Lelouch could see one of the man's eyes widening (the other seemed to be bloodied by a large gash) as he moved one hand towards his headset and the other towards the handgun at his belt. Judging by the way his leg jittered, it seemed as if he had trouble standing up.

With shaking hands, Taiga raised her handgun—

Tightening his grip on his sidearm, the Ranger pulled out his handgun—and then dropped it with a cry of pain as he stared at the growing patch of red on his arm. Like a mad animal, his hands scrabbled along the bloodied tatami for his handgun as he spoke into his headset.

"Overlord, targets spotted, targets spotted—"

Lelouch's own eyes widened in horror. "He's telling them our position! Stop him!"

Almost in slow motion, Taiga raised the handgun with shaking hands as she pointed at the soldier.

Lelouch is right. That soldier is going to give away our position.

She had shoot the man and prevent him from making things worse.

After all, he was about to raise his own gun.

The courts would agree with her.

It was, after all, self-defense.

Looking down the shaking sights, she could see the man's hand tighten on his handgun.

I have a duty to protect these children.

And she had to do whatever it took.

Ignored the scream she didn't recognize as her own, Fujimura Taiga closed her eyes as her fingers tightened on the trigger—

It was as if somebody had struck her hand. The handgun in her hand was wrenched away with inhuman force, and Taiga squeezed her eyes shut.

She was too slow.

The Britannian had managed to draw his weapon.

It was over.

She closed her eyes, awaiting the inevitable gunshot that would finish her—that never came.

Slowly, she opened her eyes.

The Black-coated man's gun was still smoking as he kicked the body of the Queen's Ranger to the side.

His voice bore no emotion.

"Did you shoot?"

"I'm sorry…"

Yet when he turned around, his face bore something that resembled joy.

And then he smiled.

It wasn't a sadistic smile, or a mirthful smile, or a prideful one—it was a sad smile, a smile of relief.

A joy that seemed to belong to a much younger man.

"I'm glad."

He walked over, hand out—just as, with an inhuman roar, the opposite wall also burst open as blinding, white light flooded into the room. A huge shadow eclipsed the sunlight—

"Just in time," the man muttered. The smile had vanished as if it had never happened as he walked over to the shape—a shape Taiga recognized as one of the JSDF APCs that had been at the bottom of the hill. As her vision adjusted, the trail of shattered trees delineated exactly how the APC had gotten up there.

The man turned around as the back hatch of the APC opened.

"Get in, get in!"

Waving to Taiga and the others, the man fired from around the corner of the APC for a moment as he helped Lelouch and Suzaku on, extending an arm as Taiga passed Nunnally. Having deposited the frail Britannian girl into Suzaku's arms, he turned around once more, reaching out an arm for Taiga, an arm she immediately grasped as the APC began to move. With a forceful yank, the man pulled Taiga on board the APC as the ramp closed behind her.

"Get us out of here," the man yelled.

"Affirmative," a female voice replied from the driver's seat.

With a sigh, the man collapsed onto the seat next to Taiga, his face drawn with exhaustion as he closed his eyes.

"Thank you…sir," Taiga said timidly.

"Just doing my job," the man replied, without a hint of flattery to suggest it was anything but the truth.

"Sir…what's your name?"

The man turned and regarded Taiga.

"Emiya. Emiya Kiritsugu."

"Any news on Kiritsugu?"

"None yet," Yohane Kotetsu yelled over the sound of helicopter blades as he helped Fujimura Raiga down from the helicopter. For a man of his age, the Oyabun displayed a manic agility that Yohane hadn't seen for years.

"Keep me posted!"

"Yes, sir!"

Yohane stood up and assumed his place behind Raiga as he straightened up and brushing dust off his immaculate coat—and was nearly deafened as a wave of roars smashed into him like a tidal wave.

Only years of composure prevented his jaws from dropping as he looked up—at the crowd that seemed to have awaited Raiga.

And it was quite the crowd. There were men in suits; men in hakama; men in T-shirts; men in nothing but tattoos; even a few women. Some of them waved handguns, a few assault rifles—others wooden swords, real swords, shotguns.

This was the force that had been the force behind the Fujimura Raiga's dominance of the shipping industry. This was the force that had, in several months, defeated the various mafias, Yakuza and chinese triads that had controlled much of Japanese shipping.

This was the Fujimura Group, the largest of the Yakuza of Japan.

Fujimura Raiga tapped his staff lightly against the ground. It was a sound that could have easily been missed by the crowd—but its effect was instant.

In the silence that immediately ensued, Fujimura Raiga spoke, his slightly demonic-looking eyes fixated on a member of the audience.

"Miyazaki, how is the business?"

Nodding to the member's tinny response, Raiga turned to another man.

"Hakurei, still watching the shrine?"

"Is your daughter's Japanese lessons going well, Kim?"

"Bezdickova, still here I see. Your wife got off your back?"

Looking around the crowd, Raiga smiled a cracked smile.

"My sons, my daughters, my adopted family…my bonds to you run thicker than blood. For years, I have relied on you, worked with you, been helped by you. The Fujimura group could not have become what it was without each and every one of you. I have relied on you men time and time again with little reward."

The crowd's cheers were instantly silenced as Raiga continued.

"But it seems I must rely on you men once more. My granddaughter, it seems, is in danger. I understand this is not the best time. You have family and friends you wish to protect and accompany in these times of trouble."

And then even Yohane could not resist staring as, with one smooth moment, got onto his knees and bowed, a bow that audibly connected his head with the floor.

"But, once more, men, I ask you for your aid. That you accompany me to save this granddaughter of mine. I will not grudge you if you leave now. You, too have family, who are worth far more to you than my daughter. I ask that those who refuse leave now, and leave without fear of retribution."

For a moment, the field was silent—and Yohane smiled as Fujimura Raiga slowly raised his head.

Not a single person had moved.

Slowly, a smile once more inched across Raiga's crooked face. "It seems like you are all idiots," he shouted. "But idiots I can trust."

With alarming swiftness, he stood up as he looked around the airfield.

"Now, my true family—let's go rescue this ungrateful granddaughter of mine!"

At 50 years of age, Yohane had always kept his body in good shape. His eyes were still 20/20, his sense of taste as good as ever.

But the roar that swept over the airfield at that moment convinced him that he would never hear again.

Voices. Voices everywhere.

Whispering. Speaking. Shouting.

It made some sense. After all, the dead far outnumbered the living.

"Jackson!"

It wouldn't be a surprise that the afterlife be some inner city urban sprawl.

Then again, was he in heaven or hell? It sure was loud.

"Jackson!"

Water. Wet.

Was this the styx?

Did somebody forget to pay the boatman for me?

I'm not very good at swimming—

"Private Jackson!"

Paul Jackson snapped awake.

"Private Paul Jackson, Queen's Rangers, Pay Number E3425049—"

"Welcome back," the face of Suming Kusui was twisted into a grin as he gazed down at Jackson.

Jackson frowned. "You're not an angel," he said in an accusatory tone.

"I'm sorry," Kusui sighed with obvious relief.

Jackson prepared to prop himself up—and then felt a burst of pain as he craned his head up.

He was strapped to a gurney. Rangers seemed to be walking here and there, and a helicopter seemed to be lifting other gurneys.

"Where—"

"You know that picture you took for your daughter?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you're going to have to settle for a postcard," Kusui grinned as he lifted a twisted piece of plastic and metal. It looked almost like Jackson's nokia—except completely bent.

In fact, it was his nokia.

"They do say these things are bricks," Kusui remarked. "Took the bullet meant for your chest. It wasn't enough to stop the bullet, but it was enough to stop it from going through your vitals."

The aboriginal Taiwanese-Britannian happily patted Jackson's arm, an action that elicited a sharp stab of pain.

"Of course, you got shot in the arm, leg and shoulder, but you're going to live." Kusui looked around darkly. "You were lucky. Carson and Gendry didn't make it. Mantrankis might make it if he's lucky."

The ranger spat bitterly.

"And all for nothing. We didn't find shit. Just a bunch of servants. Piece of bullshit intel that was…" Kusui's complaint trailed off as he turned around.

"Well, it seems like the guy who gave us the shitty intel is here in person."

Reuben Ashford ignored the glares around him as he threaded his way through the wounded. It was hard to blame them. After all, they had attacked a retreat and taken relatively heavy losses with no result.

"Worst operation since Alamut," a Ranger was saying as he walked by.

"Una just called, the Kururugi retreat in Hokkaido was empty," a slightly tanned woman reported as she put away her phone.

Though the legal term was "private security contractor," Misae Sabe of BlackHill Services LLC made no attempt to hide her status as a mercenary.

Dressed in a dark T-shirt and a bulletproof vest, the native Britannian irregular looked out of place among the much better-equipped rangers.

"We're just coming up with blanks, aren't we?" Misae noted with a touch of amusement.

"Doesn't matter much to you, does it?"

"Yep. As long as we get paid," the mercenary replied with a grin. "Still, you guys could run a tiny army with all the PMCs you've contracted."

"We might have lost our noble status, but we're anything but poor," Ashford replied. Though he had gained some weight since his time teaching at Colchester, the former noble remained reasonably fit for a man whose brown hair was starting to go white.

"All to find a boy and girl."

"…"

"What's so important about these kids?"

Weaving his way through the wounded, Ashford sighed. "These two children are related to some very important people."

"Like what, a Duke? Or are these your illegitimate children?"

"They're illegitimate now, but they aren't mine," Ashford replied hurriedly. "These Britannian children are very important to me."

Misae raised her eyebrows. "And these Britannian children are so important that you'd send mercenaries all over Japan based on rumors?"

"I had solid intel the children were here—"

"…children?"

Ashford blinked as he turned. A ranger was looking for him from on top of his gurney, accompanied by a pacific islander comrade.

"You said children?"

Ashford felt his heart leap as he ran over. A paramedic stepped in front of him. "Sir, we're about to airlift this patient—"

Without a second glance, Misae stuck out her hand and brushed the paramedic aside as Ashford stepped past to the soldier, identified on his uniform as Pvt. Jackson.

"Did you say something about children?"

"Yeah…I saw these two kids…four kids…two of them were Japanese."

"And the other two?"

"I think they were Britannian. This one dark-haired kid looked kind of Asian, but he spoke English with a high Britannian accent."

"Where'd they go?"

"Don't know, they shot me," Jackson replied with what looked like a shrug turned into a painful yelp.

As the gurney was lifted up onto the waiting helicopter, Ashford turned to Misae, who grinned at the disgruntled paramedic.

"Get ready your men, Misae."

Misae sighed. "Well, you did pay us…I thought the trail had gone cold."

Ashford smiled, a hopeful smile.

"It seems like it hasn't gone completely frigid."

End of Chapter Notes

[1] Yakuza Structure – Yakuza are organized by traditional "sworn family" structures, not unlike the Mafia. The term Oyabun, that of leader, designates a "foster father," and each of the younger members, Kobun, are adopted sons. There is a strong element of tradition and folklore in Japan about the Yakuza (who used to exist as a legitimate organization in feudal Japan), and more romantic tales dictate that the early Oyabun adopted from orphans and sons rejected by their family and give them a place. Like the modern mafia, the modern Yakuza are most certainly an illegal organization, dealing in racketeering, prostitution, drugs, and corporate embezzlement, but, like the Mafia, they do hold a system of honor (i.e. they are against thievery, and some are against drug trade) and have been known to assist in society, such as assisting in cases of natural disasters such as the Fukushima earthquake.

[2] Underskirt Pictures – Yes, it's true. Japan has had many cases of particularly lecherous fans of celebrities taking underskirt pictures with hidden cameras. To prevent this, Japanese phones cannot have their shutter sounds disabled. ww w . wire d gadgetlab / 2008 / 07 / pervert-alert-j/

[3]Natto – a traditional Japanese convenience dish made from fermented (note: rotten. Fermentation involves waiting for bacteria to break down the food and form different compounds, just like what happens with corpses and meat left out too long) soybeans. It's an acquired taste, and the smell is…pungent.

[4] Sniping is not Call of Duty – it is a lot of math. The battles shown in Call of Duty, closer to urban combat, would be better suited to the designated marksman in an infantry squad as opposed to an actual sniper, whose targets may be as far as one and a half miles away ( news . sky stor y/ 777941/super-sniper-kills-taliban-1-5-miles-away). Being a good sniper is less about lining up a target than performing many calculations while accounting from effects as random as altitude to temperature. At Kiritsugu's range with a strong wind, it might be necessary to adjust the aim several feet away from the target in order to get a hit.

[5] Barrel configuration – The Steyr AUG's gun barrel can be switched to allow for both short-range machine gun fire or long-range rifle fire.