I don't own Code Geass

...

Tokyo Settlement, Area 11, 2017

Suzaku Kururugi was the son of Genbu Kururugi, Japan's last Prime Minister and respectfully referred to as "The Samurai" for giving his life to end the war. After a disappearance that had lasted several years he reemerged as an Honorary Britannian, signing up with the Occupational Forces before being cycled into the main army. His record was notable only for its lack of infractions and, somewhat grudging it could be said, the few commendations that he had managed to incur to himself for his "stalwart loyalty" and devotion to the principles of honor and chivalry. In all respects, Private Kururugi could be described as the model soldier.

But all of this mattered little against the life of a Prince, or more aptly, the death of one, and the opportunity such an event presented. The slaughter of the G-1 bridge staff and the Prince it was supposed to protect could only have been an inside job. The majority of the bridge staff had been killed by a single gunshot wound to the head, with no rounds wasted on other appendages, implying excellent training in the use of handguns, and those that weren't had been run in with their own swords, meaning someone who was able to move at high speeds and the ability to quickly disarm opponents at close range. Neither of these could be performed by a simple terrorist, and often not even by the most exemplary foot soldiers.

Fortunately, Private Kururugi fit here as well.

His marksmanship scores, both with pistols and assault rifles, had been the top of his training unit, and challenged numbers from units in the other Areas as well. His skills in hand to hand combat were likewise exemplary, competing with and beating even seasoned Britannian soldiers in melee combat, (for which he was promptly assaulted and beaten to a pulp, as was only proper). In addition to this, those who knew and served with him could attest to a "darker side" that seemed to surface whenever civilian lives were threatened, be it by terrorists or Britannian troops, (which he was beaten for again, of course), but could just as easily be hidden away behind the cold mask of indifference.

It helped greatly that the Private had disappeared at an early point in the battle, just as reports were coming in that he had met with Clovis' Royal Guard, five brave men who had yet to return and it was feared never would, and he had only reappeared after the cease fire had been issued and the Prince found dead, though the details of his body's state had been left out of the public eye.

In short, Private Suzaku Kururugi had means, motive, and opportunity, and in a sympathetic court, of course provided with more than enough "incriminating evidence", the young soldier could be easily convicted and sentenced to death, calming the public and restoring order to the turbulent colony, not to mention increasing their own power base.

Or, at least, that was what Kewell Soresi had been trying to argue before Margrave Gottwald, his commanding officer and leader of the Purist Faction. The two had spent the better part of an hour exchanging heated words as Lord Jeremiah repeatedly refused to back the plan, no matter the facts that Kewell cited or the statements he made. Exasperated, and angry, Soresi tried one more time.

"I don't understand what the problem is here, My Lord," Kewell ground out, his teeth gnashing together, torso leaned over the Interim Viceroy's desk, hands bunched into fists on either side. "We have everything we need for a conviction. It's a shoe-in."

"Except for one thing Kewell: Opportunity. Everyone in this room is fully aware that Private Kururugi was piloting the prototype KMF out in combat: Lord Asplund won't shut up about it. Even if Kururugi had the means or the motive, I highly doubt he had the chance to carry out such wishes when he was in the middle of the combat zone." Jeremiah's response was cool and to the point, and one based on the sheer practicality of the situation, a marked difference to Kewell's own heated tone. How he hated him for it.

"Be reasonable, Jeremiah, what court is going to listen to the Earl of Pudding?"

"By that you mean 'What court do we not already own?'. I warn you Kewell, there are a good number of them. The wrong judge would see our "evidence" and throw the entire case out. We'd look like fools."

"Then we funnel it to the right judge and ensure the charges stick."

"And if they don't? The same result as before: the Purists looking like idiots at best and opportunistic scoundrels at worst."

Kewell snarled in frustration. "I don't get you, Jeremiah. A week ago you would have jumped all over this, and now you preach caution?"

"I wasn't Interim Viceroy a week ago, Kewell," Jeremiah said, that cool never leaving him, "I wasn't aware of the tenuous position we were in. Any sudden or catastrophic moves on our part could be disastrous. For the sake of the Purist Faction, we must consider our actions carefully and the ramifications that are sure to follow."

Kewell shoved himself away from the desk, disbelief and anger twisting his handsome features. He turned to the right where Viletta had been sitting in silence, watching the two and soaking in the argument. He said, "You try, Viletta, maybe you can get through to him."

"Yes, Viletta," Jeremiah said, his voice now bearing a hint of irritation, "perhaps you can. What is your opinion on this matter?"

Viletta glanced between the two, eye twitching in annoyance. Slowly she said, "I agree with Kewell: we may not get another chance like this, certainly not in the near future." Kewell positively beamed at Jeremiah. "However," she added, "I also agree with Lord Jeremiah: we should move with caution regardless of what we decide here and now."

"Well that was a wonderfully worded non-answer, Viletta," Kewell said snidely even as Jeremiah smirked behind him.

"You asked for my opinion and I gave it. Do with it what you will, but ultimately, it is Lord Jeremiah's decision. "

"Yes, Jeremiah," Kewell said in a low tone, "just what is your decision?"

Lord Jeremiah was silent for a moment, consternation furrowing his brow. Finally his features relaxed and he said, "You've both made good points. Give me an hour and I'll have an answer ready for you."

At least it's a start, Kewell thought with some satisfaction. Out loud he said, "Very well then, Jeremiah, we await your announcement with baited breath." With that, he stepped out of the room, and waited outside of the door. After a few more seconds Viletta exited as well, stepping past him into the hallway. Kewell fell in beside her.

"You were extremely disrespectful to Lord Jeremiah, Kewell," Viletta said as soon as they were out of earshot. "When this is over, you need to extend to him an apology."

"I said only what was deserved, Viletta. His restraint on this matter is vexing."

"He is only doing what he feels is right for us, and I for one am glad for his caution."

"Your loyalty is truly something to behold," Kewell said nastily, "Be sure that it doesn't come back to bite you."

Villeta stopped suddenly. "And just what is that supposed to mean?"

Kewell kept walking, throwing over his shoulder, "It means that Lord Jeremiah's time is coming to an end, and the same will happen to anyone who stands with him." Let her stew on that, he thought, heading for the mess hall. After all of that business, he needed something to eat.

...

Jeremiah Gottwald's chin rested in his hand as he looked over Kururugi's file, not really reading the words on the page, instead staring at the young man's face. Green eyes, brown hair, tanned skin, he certainly didn't look like a soldier, let alone a killer of men. He was just some kid trying to make his life a little bit better.

Why does crap like this always happen to good people? Jeremiah asked tiredly, rubbing his eyes with his free hand, before smiling. In a way it was amusing; the old Jeremiah would have taken this opportunity immediately and damn whatever consequences might come of it; the old Jeremiah would have had the boy carted off by now and shown off to the entire Area before bringing him to his kangaroo court and unlawful execution; the old Jeremiah would have been done with this by now.

The old Jeremiah was dead and a new one had taken his place. If the situation was entirely in his control, the new Jeremiah would have told Kewell to stuff it, to drop Kururugi from consideration, and then promoted the boy to officer status for his expert piloting of the Lancelot. If he did that, however, the Purist Faction would turn on him in an instant, and Kewell, the tactless snake that he was, would take control immediately, and force the group down an even more hardcore path than the one they were already on.

But even more than that, Jeremiah had a greater problem.

"Wilt thou be a sword for Justice, a shield for the innocent?"

Jeremiah had meant it when he'd said "Yes", and would like nothing more than to abide by that oath and pull the boy from consideration, but now he experienced a conflict of interests.

"Wilt thou swear thyself to me and any member of mine family?"

If Jeremiah did tell Kewell to look elsewhere it was possible, however unlikely, that the man might pick of the assassin's trail and trace it back to His Prince, and that he could not allow. His mind was in turmoil from this quandary.

If I let Kewell take the boy, it will throw the dogs off Prince Lelouch's back, but it would break my promise to defend the innocent. If, on the other hand, I tell Kewell to search for the real killer, he could find the Prince, and that will certainly end in his execution. "Dammit," Jeremiah cursed, "What am I supposed to do?"

Jeremiah dug his hand into his coat and pulled his cell phone out of the inside pocket, pulling up the Contacts list and clicking down the list of names. Jeremiah had felt privileged when Prince Lelouch had not only given him his number but also put him on Speed Dial.

I need your help, My Prince, Jeremiah thought as pressed the "Send" button and brought the phone up to his ear. Please, guide me.

...

C.C. slid her fingers over the violet colored coat, luxuriating in its comforting feel, and imagining the sight it would make when debuted before the world. The material was tough, flexible, and would make an excellent flight suit as well as a brilliant ensemble for the masked man who would soon be leading a nation into war. She glanced over at the soon-to-be revolutionary as he spoke into the mouthpiece of his phone, discussing something or other with Orange. She thought she caught the name "Suazaku" and could guess what it was about: the Demon was about to make his appearance.

Or reappearance as it were, C.C. thought as she returned her attention to the costume, lifting up the mask that would soon become a beacon of justice and resistance in the days to come. The mask irritated her to some extent; the last time she had seen, it had been worn by the man who executed Lelouch, stained with the blood that the Demon Emperor had wiped on it. C.C. had stayed away from any of the public media after that, sticking to back country and small farming towns, unwilling and unable to view the various news reports on "Zero" or his rescuing of the world from the tyranny of a madman.

He was a hero, she had wanted to scream. He saved you all from your own stupidity! He gave you the gentle world you wanted for so long.

But she had kept silent, not wanting to make his death worthless, his sacrifice meaningless. And for a short time, it seemed as if the plan had succeeded, that peace would truly reign. Then cold reality set itself; the UFN tore itself apart in the gamesmanship that all politicians like to play, the structural problems in the organization becoming more obvious as time went on, and those with half a mind exploiting them for their own benefit. It hadn't surprised her one bit.

C.C. had never been able to delude herself like Lelouch and Suzaku had into believing the plan would work; she had been alive too long, seen too much, and experienced too much of man's darker side to ever be able to fully sign on with it, but had never tried to talk the two out of it. She had seen they both wanted it and would ignore any argument proposed against it, their minds made up and their paths set. Under any other circumstances she would have left them to their own destruction and begun the search for a new contractor, but she had to stay. She helped with the plan because she could see how much Lelouch was hurting, his sister's "death" and the Black Knights' betrayal having pushed him over the edge. She could not, would not, give him her Code. It would have been torture to exist that way; she knew from experience. Lelouch had simply arrived at her present state in a shorter amount of time.

When Nunnally had returned it was far too late: they had passed the point of no return, both literally and figuratively. Suzaku would not be denied his vengeance, and after some harsh words from him, Lelouch would not be denied his punishment. And so she had stayed with him in those final months, comforting him, being the rock he needed to carry out his final plan. And when the plan was finally enacted, when "Zero" sprinted down that street toward history, she had prayed for him, for his salvation, because no other person would. Not Suzaku, not Kallen, not even Nunally.

And now here they were all over again, redoing his first rebellion against the Empire, "getting the gang back together" as the saying went, this time armed with a much more mature and experienced commander and general knowledge of future events. It was a rough framework, and one that would likely be changed radically very soon, but it was a good starting point from which they could branch out, charting a new course to a better world.

C.C. was pulled from her thoughts when she heard Lelouch snap his phone shut and make his way over to her. She placed the mask back into the bundle of clothing that constituted his costume and turned to him, asking, "I take it that was about Suzaku?"

Lelouch nodded, his violet eyes hard and calculating. "Orange has informed me of one his subordinates' plan for Suzaku's frame-up."

"Seems rather odd of him," C.C. remarked, "What about those oaths you made him give? Does he go back on them so quickly?"

Lelouch grinned. "Not at all. He was conflicted over what his next action needed to be and required my instruction."

"I assume you told him to back off?"

"On the contrary," Lelouch said, his grin becoming decidedly feral," I've encouraged him to proceed with it. The trial will happen in three days."

C.C.'s eyes widened in surprise. She said, "I'm surprised Lelouch. With Orange now on our side so early in the game I would think you'd want to keep him in his current position, not throw it away so that Zero can come on stage."

"You know me well, C.C. Orange won't be the one leading the procession- his subordinate Kewell will." Lelouch began to eye his costume, checking the oversized cuff links and collar and the narrowness of the pants. "From what Orange tells me, Kewell is a man far more ruthless, more petty, and more vengeful than is perhaps healthy for the Japanese people."

"A dangerous enemy to be sure."

"And one we need to be rid of as soon as possible. Zero's appearance at the procession and subsequent announcement will be more than enough to ruin Soresi's career, as well as breaking the power of the Purist Faction."

"Does Orange know about that last part?"

"He does and is on board with it, though it took a bit of convincing. He also made the request that he be allowed to protect Viletta Nu from harm. Apparently she's his most loyal and trustworthy soldier and he doesn't want her career to go down in flames with the rest of them."

"How noble," C.C. remarked. "Moving on to other pressing matters, it seems that your costume is ready for use. You are now ready to wow the world again with your lousy taste in clothing."

"And just what the Hell is that supposed to mean?" Lelouch asked, turning his irritated eyes on her.

C.C.'s eyes glowed with amusement. "Well let's face it Lelouch, this outfit makes you look like a hooker."

Lelouch burned red. "Wh-What the Hell are you talking about, Witch?" He spluttered. "I look the very model of the Britannian nobility!"

"Oh, please Lelouch, you're not fooling anyone," C.C. said, her lips tilting into a smirk. She gestured to the uniform, saying, "Take a look at it yourself." She lifted the arm of the coat. "See the way the sleeves form into tight fixtures along your arms," she patted the torso, "the way the breast and navel parts tighten across your body, defining your slim figure and smooth stomach. Or how about," she lifted the pants, "the way the pants hug your legs and buttocks, tight along the broad parts and leaving very little to the imagination as to what you look like underneath.

"Honestly, all we'd really have to do is take off the cape and mask, stick you under a red light, and you'd have customers in no time."

The more C.C. talked, the more red Lelouch turned from what she guessed was a combination of outrage and embarassement. Finally he spluttered out, "That's completely absurd!"

C.C. frowned suddenly. "You know," she said slowly, "you have a point."

Lelouch glared at her suspiciously. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well," she paused, a wicked smile playing across her lips, "we haven't yet decided on your name. How about," she paused again, "the 'Midnight Prince'?"

Lelouch whirled away from her, quickly stuffing his completed costume into his bag.

C.C. continued. "Or maybe 'The Chess Master'?"

Lelouch began to move faster, struggling to get his mask into the confines of the carrier.

"Oh, I know! How about 'The Demon Under Your Bed'?"

"Shut the Hell up!" Lelouch squeaked, turning to her, his face a flaming red. "I'm not into that kind of thing!" he added.

"And yet you allow attractive women, and men, to draw on your face and make you pretty. That's not even mentioning the Cross-Dresser's Ball." Lelouch stared at her incredulously. C.C. smiled. "Nunnally has lots of stories."

Grumbling something about having to tell Nunnally not to talk to strange women, Lelouch finally got the zipper over his helmet and charged out the door, C.C.'s laughter following him the entire way.

...

Suzaku groaned painfully, returning to consciousness slowly against the throbbing in his skull. He tried to move his arms but found them to be oddly hampered in their movements, and soon found that he couldn't move them more than a few centimeters. His eyes opened and he found himself in a dark-lit room, faint light filtering in through a set of steel bars. He briefly wondered where he was, then remembered as more of his senses returned to him.

That's right, I was arrested. He sat up slowly, wincing at the pain that ripped through his head from where one of the arresting officers had hit him with his truncheon and the bruised areas on his ribs and cheeks where he had been kicked and punched. He settled himself into a sitting position, breathing raggedly against the sharp pain that spread throughout his body before leveling out into a dull ache.

They had come to the A.S.E.E.C. storage hangar, accusing Suzaku of Viceroy Clovis' assassination before hauling him out in front of more than a hundred reporters, any attempt to deny his involvement rewarding him with a backhand to the face or a punch to the ribs. He was greeted upon his arrival by a ring of Britannian soldiers who proceeded to beat him black and blue until one of the soldiers was kind of enough to hit him over the head with his baton, knocking out Suzaku and ruining their fun.

Suzaku couldn't help but feel a surge of irritation. He had been about to go out and search for Lelouch and that strange girl when they had arrested him, and now there was no way of knowing whether or not Lelouch had made it out of Shinjuku Ghetto alive.

His heart ached when he remembered his long-lost childhood friend and the strange way they had met again. He had never expected to find his old friend in a combat zone, let alone with a group of terrorists, but after the initial shock had worn off it had been without hesitation when he shoved his gas mask onto Lelouch's face, protecting the boy who had become his brother with his own life. He smiled at the memory of the undignified squawk Lelouch had given when he shoved him down. That smile disappeared when he remembered how a girl, and not poison gas, had fallen out of the capsule, Lelouch immediately going to assist her while Suzaku dithered in shock.

Anger flashed through him when he remembered how the Captain of Clovis' Royal Guard had ordered him to kill innocent civilians, and then shot him when he refused. It should have surprised Suzaku: he had never truly disobeyed an order, though he did question their morality, but Lelouch had always pushed Suzaku into actions he would otherwise not have committed, commanding and manipulating him even when they were kids. It had annoyed him back then but by now he was used to it. When it got down to it, it was just easier to follow Lelouch's lead rather than fight against it.

"If you want justice, you should destroy Britannia!"

Suzaku felt an incredible wave of sadness as he recalled the words Lelouch had screamed at him. It had been how he knew it was him. You're still angry, even seven years later, huh Lelouch? He could still remember the oath Lelouch had sworn to him the day after his father died.

"I swear Suzaku, so help me, I will obliterate Britannia!"

Oh, Lelouch, Suzaku warned his friend mentally, abandon that quest. It leads to nothing but heartache and death. Suzaku had seen good people be consumed by their hatred and despair and shrivel up into husks of themselves, so set in the past and a war long lost.

That was not to say, however, that he had not had those angry thoughts, that he had not considered gunning down his superior officers when they committed unethical decisions or tried to order him to do the same. Often times there was nothing more he'd like better to do than steal a Sutherand and destroy as many other Britannians as possible before they got him.

But then he would remember the good men among the ranks, the Britannians that didn't let their power go to their heads, the ones that, even if they were still bigoted, didn't abuse the power they had to carry out their bigotry, the ones that he was trying so hard to convince, and he would be reassured of his actions and decisions, and trust once more in the quest that he had given himself.

Japan is dead, he had decided, but the Japanese people are not, and even though we go by a different name now, we still have our lives. This land will never be freed through terrorism; Britannia's too strong for that, and all the terrorists are doing is making people miserable. That's why we have to introduce change from within, to make the situation in the government better, and make our people's lives better.

That was what he believed even now, here in this cell. Whatever charges they had put against him wouldn't stick, the evidence they presented, false or true, would be shot down, and he would be set free. He had to trust in the system now, just as he always had, just as he always would.