A Young Girl's Guerilla War

by RagnartheSemiGreen

Tanya dies in an artillery barrage on the Rhine Front, contrary to both her and Being X's plans. Unwilling to let his chew toy escape so easily, Being X reincarnates Tanya back into Japan... Six years before Britannia conquers Area 11. (First posted on Space Battles)

30. Chapter 29: A Snipe Hunt (Pt 1)

Chapter 29: A Snipe Hunt, Part 1

(Thank you to Aminta Defender, Sunny, Restestsest, Mitch H., Adronio, WrandmWaffles, Rakkis157 and MetalDragon for beta-reading and editing this chapter. A bit shorter than normal, but Chapter 30 will hopefully arrive sooner than normal as a result.)

MAY 16, 2016 ATB
OUTPOST #2, CHUO WARD, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1600

Inspector Nelson Dutra Garcia took a long pull from the paper cup of mediocre office coffee sitting on his temporary desk. The awful brew was lukewarm and a trial upon his tongue, but he needed the caffeine desperately. Anything to keep the jet-lagged exhaustion at bay for a few hours more, until he could sleep, was welcome.

He sighed with boredom as he flipped through the personnel files of the supposed "cream of the regiment." Garcia, better known as Gus to his friends and colleagues back at the Pleasanton Field Office due to some long-forgotten incident at an office Christmas party and alternatingly called "Nelito" or "You Bastard" by a string of ex-lovers across the New Areas, was having a devil of a time keeping his eyes from crossing as he took in the bland details.

Unfortunately, he had already cut all the corners he could with this task. Some things a man just had to handle himself, and choosing a local guide wasn't something Nelson was willing to delegate. Recommendations were all well and good, but he wouldn't be able to rely on the guide in the slightest if he didn't have at least some hand in the selection.

Bureau policy called for agents abroad from their Area of assignment or the Homeland to use local Honoraries as ciphers whenever possible, even when the agent in question had a strong command of the local language. The locals, even those who had put aside old loyalties for their new Empire, would always have a better grasp on the peculiarities of the Area. Even the most ardent Honorary Citizen who had shared every detail he thought would be useful to Britannia benefitted from the half-dozen details he hadn't thought to share. From such nuances success or failure could grow in equal measure.

Even if the Bureau hadn't mandated the use of Honorary Britannians when possible, Nelson still would have sought out local help of his own initiative. As an Honorary Citizen himself, albeit one descended from latifundiários who had seen which way the wind was blowing four generations ago and who had pledged their allegiance accordingly, Nelson fully appreciated the advantages that Honoraries brought to the table. More to the point, he understood what drove them to work harder and take more risks than Britannian commoners; above all else, every Honorary strove to be useful. If you were useful to the right person in just the right way…

Well, Honorary Citizens had become Britannians before, typically via the fiat of some noble potentate or highly placed governmental officer, who imparted the grand reward of Citizenship as thanks for some great or long service. Failing that, it was far from unheard of for an ambitious commoner family to bring a skilled Honorary into the fold via matrimony; while that Honorary might never enjoy the status of full citizenship in the Empire, their children would.

And so, with at least five hours to go before he could surrender to his body's demands for sleep, Inspector Garcia forced himself to concentrate on the files in front of him, always on the quest for diligence in the execution of his duties.

True to form, most of the Honorary soldiers recommended to him by their officers were stolid, seemingly uninspired men. No doubt they were all strong, neat, and obedient, as only a fool would recommend the dross for duty with a Bureau agent for fear of their name appearing in his report, but Nelson had little doubt that the officers would likewise only recommend their safest bets for the same reason. Their reliable men, and the handful of women, were certain to be all but oxen in human form, dull and unimaginative as they were uncomplaining.

Nelson blinked and turned back to the last profile he had looked at. His eyes had filmed over with exhaustion as he had skimmed its contents and, while he couldn't remember what he had read, something had seemed off…

A moment later, his eyes widened, all fatigue dropping away. It was inconceivable, an almost unimaginably stupid blunder, but… He scanned the page again, carefully searching for inconsistencies, for hints of misdirection or omission, but found nothing.

Moving carefully, as if any sudden jerking motion might send the impossible document spiraling away into the ether once again, Inspector Garcia carefully entered the relevant name and rank into the pre-written standard personnel requisition and printed the completed form on Bureau letterhead. A quick phone call to the staff sergeant on duty sent a messenger to the Inspector's temporary office, and after a few words, back away again.

The two military policemen whom Colonel Prescott had assigned to nursemaid him around the outpost fell into step behind him as Nelson strode past, just as he knew they would. He had worked with their brothers in arms many times before, most recently in the round-up of a ring of subversives smuggling banned literature across prefectural borders.

The redcaps had never given Inspector Garcia any cause to doubt their loyalty or willingness to dole out violence on a moment's notice. But, if the military police force had a weakness, it was a crippling lack of imagination, both in terms of investigation and in the interrogation room.

Fortunately, Nelson thought, no hint of smirk showing under his habitually broad and friendly smile, the Bureau is here to provide plenty of both on their behalf. Which makes my arrival here before they realized who they had tucked behind a clerical error so serendipitous; I would hate to have seen the Military Police try to co-opt such a resource without breaking it!

"Stand by the wall at parade rest," Garcia directed as the small entourage arrived at Conference Room C. "I need you to look as bored as possible while still looking professional."

"We can manage that," the MP with sergeant's stripes acknowledged with a wry smile. "Least I can't fall asleep on my feet."

"Sure you can," Nelson continued briskly, "I have faith in your abilities, Sergeant. Now, when the mark gets here, I need scary faces, but I need you to make a show of focusing on me. As soon as I give an order, jump to it. No need to ham it up, but if it looks a bit dramatic, that's fine."

"Building you a pedestal, eh, Inspector?" The redcap private nodded knowingly. "As you say, Sir."

"Get in place, then," Nelson said dismissively. "The boy's file said that he's quite keen, so he'll probably be here soon. Remember, as soon as he gets here, you're terrifying and bored, and when I speak, professional but terrified. And," he smiled knowingly, feeling the scar pulling at his lip, "I'll make sure Colonel Prescott knows how helpful you were."

"Right you are, Sir," the sergeant agreed, before tapping his subordinate on the shoulder and leading him to the wall. For his part, Garcia artlessly arranged himself in the chair at the head of the table, striving to look as stern as possible without being unapproachably formal.

First impressions mattered, after all. Especially when an asset like the son of the last Prime Minister of Japan fell into your lap.

MAY 16, 2016 ATB
OUTPOST #2, CHUO WARD, TOKYO SETTLEMENT
1630

"Sir!" Corporal Kururugi came to attention, clicking his heels as his fist thudded into his breastplate directly over his heart, the very model of military professionalism. He hoped. "Corporal Kururugi, reporting as ordered!"

"At ease, Corporal," came the disinterested reply from the officer seated at the immaculately neat desk in front of him, barren of any paperwork save for the single document said officer was theatrically perusing. "Do you know why I've called you here today?"

There were many possible replies Corporal Kururugi could have offered up to answer that leading question, ranging from attempts to curry favor to self-incriminating confessions for crimes imagined or real. After just over a year of service under the command of Captain Collins, commanding officer of His Majesty's 32nd Honorary Legion, 1st Brigade, 3rd Regiment, 1st Battalion, he had learned better than to volunteer any of those possible answers.

The battalion's commander didn't appreciate "lip" from the Honoraries who served under him.

"No Sir," Corporal Kururugi said, following the script with as much enthusiasm as he could muster as he settled into parade rest. As the silence lingered just a bit too long, he elaborated with a "Couldn't hazard a guess, Sir."

Behind the seated officer, Color Sergeant Coffin, the battalion's senior NCO, gave a minute headshake, discouraging any further additions.

The sergeant's blotchy face was impassive beneath the florid blooms on his cheeks, and Corporal Kururugi fervently hoped that the man was sober. When sober, the middle-aged Britannian was the only soldier in the battalion capable of putting a check on the captain's youthful impetuosity. When drunk though, his help was… dubious at best.

"I called you here today to bid you farewell," Captain Collins said, looking up from the desk for the first time since Corporal Kururugi entered the office. His burgundy mustache, elaborately waxed, arched with aristocratic disdain as he deigned to make eye contact. "Farewell for now, at least. You are being detached for temporary duty as a local guide. Do thank Rockwell before you go, Corporal; he's the one who recommended you."

As he spoke, the captain spun the single sheet of paper towards Corporal Kururugi and, with an elegant flick, sent it skimming across the polished mahogany surface. Instinctively, Kururugi left his position of parade rest to catch the paper as it slid off the desk. Judging by the contemptuous sneer on Collin's face, that had somehow been the wrong move.

Fail if you try and fail if you succeed, Suzaku murmured. And all for an audience of two. How petty…

"Yes Sir," Corporal Kururugi responded smartly, quickly skimming the document. "I will, Sir!"

Printed upon the document under an unfamiliar letterhead were his orders. Apparently, Corporal Kururugi was to render all due assistance to one Police Inspector Nelson Dutra Garcia, of the Pleasanton Office of the Imperial Bureau of Investigation, out of New Wales, Area 7. His orders particularly emphasized his duty to provide the inspector with interpretation, translation, and local knowledge on demand, as well as "handling any and all miscellaneous tasks delegated upon him."

"I would hurry if I were you, Corporal," Captain Collins drawled, amusement that tried for sardonic and settled for jeering on his face. "The Inspector has already arrived. He's waiting for you. Full kit, I'd say; no idea when you'll be back to trouble our halls again."

Ten frantic minutes later, Corporal Kururugi was in the Administrative Office's lobby, greeting the Britannian duty sergeant. "Corporal Kururugi, 1st Battalion 2nd Company, reporting to a summons from Inspector Garcia."

"He's waiting for you in Conference Room C, Corporal, along with a couple of redcaps" the sergeant replied in the distinctive accent of central Area 1, using the nickname of the Army's Military Police Corps. "Bit early, aren't you? Good man. Haven't seen much of that from your lot. That'll keep 'em happy."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Corporal Kururugi nodded, taking pride in the compliment even as he tried to quash his sudden spike of anger at Captain Collins. "Have a good shift."

It's always good to excel in the little things, Kururugi told himself as he made his way down the hall to Room C. Take their spite and turn it into a step upwards. Captain Collins had his fun sending me scrambling, but I just impressed a sergeant working in the major's office thanks to him. And now… Now I have to impress a police inspector.

The door to Room C was open and unguarded, so Corporal Kururugi walked straight in, his pack still slung over his shoulders and his helmet tucked under his arm. He immediately spotted the redcaps, where the pair of military policemen waited by the far wall at parade rest, their faces flat and hard. To his eyes, they had the mien of bored men who were attending to a pointless task out of rote professionalism.

Good Britannian soldiers, he decided approvingly.

The seat at the head of the table was occupied by an apparent civilian in a tailored suit. Corporal Kururugi was immediately suspicious; in his experience, a civilian whom the military and especially the military police showed deference towards was likely either a noble, a representative of one of the myriad of competing intelligence agencies, or perhaps both. The quality of the man's charcoal three-piece ensemble indicated the sort of wealth established money brought, but the white scar lancing across his dusky cheek indicated a bit more of a rough and tumble life than Corporal Kururugi typically attached to the Britannian upper crust.

After all, Suzaku remembered, Lelouch could hardly lift a practice sword when he first arrived, much less knife-fight.

"Sir!" Corporal Kururugi barked, coming to attention as he saluted the suited man. For all that he wasn't in uniform, the man's presence was enough to announce his dominance over the room. "Corporal Kururugi, reporting as ordered, Sir!"

"Take a seat, Corporal," the inspector replied, his voice coolly melodic with an accent Corporal Kururugi had never heard before. "I will deal with you shortly."

Then, as Corporal Kururugi negotiated his heavy pack down to the floor and gingerly sat down in the finely cushioned chairs, desperate to not hurt the leather upholstery, Inspector Garcia turned to the brace of policemen, who remained poised like unlovely statues save for their eyes, which had fixed on the Bureau man.

"Kindly pass my regards and thanks onto Colonel Prescott for me, gentleman," Garcia began, "and reassure him that I will not forget his name when I next report in. I will, of course, be anticipating the friendly cooperation and hospitality of your counterparts in the Navy this evening. Your office will make the necessary arrangements, I am sure."

"Yes, Sir!" came the crisp reply in two-part harmony.

"Wonderful!" Said the inspector with a genial smile that somehow contrived to only make his words all the more menacing as he dismissed the men with a nod. "Carry on then."

Corporal Kururugi could only watch in amazement as the two redcaps, clear Britannians and hardened fighters both, almost fell over themselves to acknowledge the Inspector's orders and to awkwardly mumble the requisite pleasantries as they beat a hasty retreat out and away.

As the door to the conference room closed behind the MPs, the Inspector stood up from his chair and stretched with a theatrical yawn, the brooding aura of potent menace immediately dissipating at the casual motion.

"Finally!" Inspector Garcia exclaimed with a sudden, almost boyish burst of energy as he circled the table, stopping beside Corporal Kururugi's chair. "I thought they would never leave! Corporal Kururugi, eh? I'm Nelson, or Inspector Garcia in public. It's very good to meet you!"

He extended a hand, which Corporal Kururugi shook automatically, a mechanical smile hoisted up on his face as he struggled for the correct reaction. "It's… good to meet you too, Sir. I hope to be of service to you."

"None of that formality," Inspect- Nelson insisted with a dismissive wave. "Nelson, please. I'm no military man, nor am I some Britannian blueblood who takes offense at familiarity, Corporal. In fact, I'm an Honorary Citizen of our glorious Empire, just as you are, so there's no need to stand on ceremony."

Corporal Kururugi blinked.

Sure you are, he thought dismissively, which is why you just gave an order to a pair of Brit redcaps with the full expectation that it would be obeyed.

Still, I suppose it doesn't matter who he is; all that matters is that he's in charge and I've been ordered to assist and obey him.

"As you say, Sir," Corporal Kururugi said agreeably. "I look forward to assisting you with your business here in Area 11."

"...Please, Corporal Kururugi, call me Nelson," Inspector Garcia insisted, before smiling and adding, "I am far too young and handsome to be called sir! The day people start 'sirring' me is the day I know I have been trapped behind a desk at last!"

The man's smile was infectious, and Corporal Kururugi found himself automatically returning it. Whatever doubts he might have about the idea that he and Inspector Garcia were on the same social level were swiftly being eroded in the face of that apparently sincere charm. Some part of him that had been tightly clenched since Christmas had begun to relax without him noticing it.

"As you say, Nelson," Corporal Kururugi replied, deadpan but with a ghost of a younger Suzaku's humor, and felt his nascent smile broaden as Nelson chuckled warmly in response. "So… Sorry for asking, but you really are an Honorary Britannian too…? I mean," he gestured vaguely at the inspector's tailored suit, "begging your pardon, but I don't think I've seen many Honoraries wearing Schulster Row."

"Ah, you have a good eye, Corporal!" Inspector Garcia exclaimed, straightening his lapels. "And to answer your question, yes, I am an Honorary Citizen of the Empire."

He paused, clearly anticipating some sort of reaction, but Corporal Kururugi kept quiet. What would be the point in mentioning how life for Honorary Britannians in Area 11 was scarcely better than it was for their recalcitrant Number cousins?

Clearly, his silence had spoken loudly enough, as a hint of strain entered the older man's smile. "Ah, well… I understand that things are still quite rough here in the New Areas, and in Area 11 in particular, but these things take time, Corporal. Don't worry, soon you and your fellow Honorary Citizens of Eleven heritage will enjoy the same quality of life as we do in the more civilized Areas. Why, Area 9, New Mann, was only proclaimed seventeen years ago, and already the Honorary Citizens there enjoy the same privileges as we from the Old Areas, if not the Heartland."

He's right, Kururugi told himself, it takes time for the system to work. If I can just get my people to put down their weapons and give the Britannians some time, I'm sure they'll see the wisdom of it soon enough. Area 11 is too valuable to ever be independent, but its Sakuradite makes it too important to neglect. If the fools would stop running around and getting people caught up in dreams, surely they'd all understand it!

Area 9 had a population of fifteen million after they were conquered by the Britannians, Suzaku whispered from his cloister, and Japan had over a hundred and twenty million citizens. Area 9 didn't offer any significant resistance after they were taken over too, I remember that from Instructor Tohdoh's lessons. Japan hasn't known peace in a decade. If it took the Empire almost two decades to handle a complacent population an eighth the size of ours, how long will the Elevens have to wait?

That's where we come in, Kururugi reminded himself. If our people want to fight, we should fight for the Empire, so they will understand what valuable contributions we can make.

"I'm certain that you're right, Inspector," Corporal Kururugi said out loud, slamming the mental door on Suzaku. "Anyway, I've been commanded to give you all the help I can offer, so… How can I help you?"

"To business, eh?" Inspector Garcia returned to his chair and took his seat again. "You're a keen one. I like it! Very well, Corporal, if you're going to be my native guide as well as my translator, let's see what you know."

I wonder if this was all some extended trick, to see if I had any personal affinity or connections with the insurgents? Corporal Kururugi turned the thought around in his mind for a moment, before discarding it. No, that's stupid. Why would they bother with such a convoluted plan when the redcaps would have happily beaten a confession out of me? So, if he's not trying to entrap me, I wonder what it is he wants to hear?

"For starters," Inspector Garcia began, fidgeting with his cuffs for a moment and loosening his tie before leaning in over the table, eyes alight. "Tell me… what do you know about Yokohama?"

As Corporal Kururugi began to talk, regurgitating everything he had ever heard about the vast port city and the naval base to its south at Yokosuka, he was gratified to see that Inspector Garcia was listening to him. He was paying attention, and not just the minimal consideration of bored officers or the sullen wariness of beaten soldiers, but close attention. The inspector never looked away from him and never looked bored, but nodded attentively as Corporal Kururugi added detail after half-remembered detail, jotting down notes on a pad every now and again.

The sensation of someone voluntarily heeding his words and listening to him scratched another itch deep inside Corporal Kururugi, inside Suzaku, just as their friendly conversation had. And over the course of the next two hours, he told Inspector Nelson Dutra Garcia everything he could about Yokohama, Area 11, and the fight to once and for all put an end to the intransigent Number resistance in the eastern gem in Britannia's crown.

JUNE 22, 2016 ATB
POLICE STATION, FUNAKOSHICHO WARD, PORT YOKOSUKA IMPERIAL NAVAL BASE
1630

"Thank you very much for your time, Mister Eisaku," Inspector Garcia said as he flipped his notebook closed. "My partner and I will pay this mushroom farm you've brought to our attention a visit very soon."

From his seat at the table next to Inspector Garcia, Corporal Kururugi kept his expression blankly emotionless. There was, he reasoned, no point in giving the criminal seated across from them any cause to believe that his offenses had been forgotten or forgiven.

Just because he's willing to throw his former friends under the bus to save his skin doesn't make him a law-abiding citizen again. Corporal Kururugi felt his jaw clench at the thought and tried not to glare too openly at the informant. Transactional loyalty is no loyalty at all.

"Just think," the police inspector added with a friendly enthusiasm Corporal Kururugi felt was wasted on the pathetic wretch, "if we recover any of the stolen property or catch the perpetrators at their stash spot, you could be a free man again by this time next week!"

"Ah…" The informant sagged slightly. "So… You won't be letting me go, then?"

Corporal Kururugi glowered at the fool until he quickly added "Inspector?"

The corporal hadn't been brought into this interrogation to intimidate the witness; he had taken that particular responsibility on his own initiative. While he was officially in attendance as the official translator, this particular informant spoke Britannian fluently, rendering his presence redundant. All the same, Nelson claimed to value his perspective and insisted that he attend all interrogations, and dutifully Kururugi had complied.

"I am afraid not," Inspector Garcia replied, shooting a quelling look at Corporal Kururugi. "While I have complete confidence in the information you have provided, I will of course need to keep you in custody until I can act on it. Way of the world, I fear."

Somehow, the Eleven managed to sag even further in his straight-backed chair, prompting the inspector to hastily add, "Think of it this way; if your information proves useful, your reward will come that much sooner if I know where to find you."

It was difficult for Corporal Kururugi to hide his scorn at the softhearted display; only his habitual deference to authority allowed him to suppress his instinctive sneer.

He's far too soft on them, the corporal thought, not for the first time. Always the soft touch. Always babying them and rarely pressuring them. And never allowing even a little bit of persuasion… And yet, he was forced to conclude, again, he gets results. And he's in charge.

The middle-aged Number found the temerity to look back up at the inspector. "...My reward?"

"What," Inspector Garcia asked, "did you think I would be so ingracious as to not compensate you for your time and your information beyond restoring your freedom?"

Judging by the Elevenese snitch's expression of wide-eyed shock, he would have counted himself extremely lucky to leave the police station under his own power with all of his fingers unbroken.

"No, my friend," Inspector Garcia continued expansively, "I will see to it that, if we recover the stolen shipment, you will be rewarded appropriately. A finder's fee is the traditional expression of gratitude for the restoration of missing property, after all!"

And to Corporal Kururugi's disgust, the Eleven practically came to life at the mention of a monetary reward. Further details fled from the man's lips, describing hidden rooms and even offering up the address of a Britannian-owned garage that doubled as a chopshop for a local gang.

Once again, he gets results through dishonorable means. Corporal Kururugi grimaced. It was galling to see what could only be described as a corruption of the system in action, and worse still to know that Inspector Garcia's bribery would almost certainly yield fruit. The results speak for themselves, but… Rewarding any criminal for defying the system, for reaching beyond their place… It's wrong.

Over the month and week he had spent trailing after Inspector Garcia, Corporal Kururugi had seen an unfamiliar side of the Britannian justice system, a softer, more decadent side.

Inspector Garcia never asked for him to administer a corrective beating to a mouthy prisoner, nor had he ever so much as threatened any of his interviewees with such measures. That had been a relief to Corporal Kururugi; extrajudicial violence was against the law and indicated a misunderstanding of how justice should work.

Of course, had the inspector ever bothered to submit the necessary paperwork for active interrogations, Corporal Kururugi wouldn't have had a problem assisting him, once approval was given. One of the earliest of the few lessons Kururugi Genbuu had taught a young Corporal Kururugi was just how effective a good beating could be when it came to convincing someone to change their behavior. So, in the spirit of helpfulness, he had even approached Nelson about it on his own initiative, offering him a copy of the form on the off-chance that he was unfamiliar with the Area Administration's particular paperwork.

The inspector had just thanked him for his offered assistance before waving the proffered form away.

Instead, the inspector just… talked to the men and women who he requested be hauled up from the cells. He asked for their stories, for their recommendations of good local restaurants, for what the names of their children and parents were. He put them at ease, brought smiles to their faces, and somehow parlayed those good feelings into actionable intelligence through a process that remained inexplicable to Corporal Kururugi, even though he had seen it over and over.

Somehow, Inspector Garcia could just charm the details of criminal operations and the personalities of the crooks behind them out of the mouths of their imprisoned associates. Even through Corporal Kururugi's translation, which he kept completely faithful to the inspector's word and intent, the man was able to work his magic.

And whenever his charm wasn't able to fully extract all the details, Inspector Garcia would resort to bribery. He never called it as such, always dressing it up as rewards or incentives, but Corporal Kururugi knew what he was seeing.

And yet, Suzaku noted as he stood beside Inspector Garcia at the gate to the farm, leaning against the boundary fence as they watched the police officers lead a line of shackled Numbers from the main building of the mushroom farm, he got results. Again.

"Inspector?" Corporal Kururugi asked after the coffle made its way to the truck that would haul them back to the police station, "if you don't mind my curiosity, why are you bothering yourself with all of this… petty small-time crime?"

"Because I'm part of His Imperial Majesty's police force, Corporal," Inspector Garcia murmured, watching as the prisoners were loaded into the armored truck one by one. "It's my job to track down and detain those responsible for acts against the Empire."

"Yes, of course," Corporal Kururugi agreed with a quick nod, "but that's… Not really what I meant. I mean, you're supposed to be some sort of famous rebel hunter and an expert at dealing with bandits, but you've spent the last month here in Yokohama just going after… small fry stuff. And… it's not like there aren't bigger problems going on around here, work that's more fitting your talents..."

Seeing a trace of disappointment cross the foreign Honorary Britannian's face, he hastily added, "not that it isn't important to deal with petty criminals; all crime must be rigorously prosecuted, of course! It just seems like the local police should be handling this sort of thing, so you can focus on dealing with the insurgents!"

"Oh, but I am," Inspector Garcia replied, smiling now that he had the chance to indulge himself by explaining something. "So, let me ask you, Corporal… What was the stolen property that led me to this farm?"

"One of the trucks that transports fuel out to the stations went missing, right?" Corporal Kururugi frowned, trying to remember the details. "A tanker full of diesel, if I'm remembering correctly."

"Right," Inspector Garcia nodded. "Someone slid behind the wheel and drove the truck off the yard, tank and all. And they drove it to this farm."

"...I'm not seeing the connection to terrorism, Nelson," Corporal Kururugi admitted, irritated by his failure. "They stole some fuel; fuel's expensive, though. They were probably going to siphon the tank off into multiple containers and sell it to their friends." Corporal Kururugi frowned. "What even uses diesel, though? Just trucks, right?"

"Farm equipment too. But yes, the resale idea is entirely possible," Inspector Garcia acknowledged with a nod. "And it's entirely possible that the tanker truck would simply be processed through that chopshop and resold once all identifying markers were removed. Perhaps the crooks running the ring would have even found the balls to sell our truck back to us!"

The inspector laughed at the theoretical audacity of the thieves and Corporal Kururugi dutifully chuckled along in response.

"However," continued Inspector Garcia after the moment of ritual amusement passed, "the other possibility is that the thieves would have sold the truck and its fuel to an insurgent group. It's even possible that some of those even now being loaded onto the wagon as we speak are actually more rebel than criminal, although that distinction is often meaningless. In which case, that truckload of diesel could be a formidable weapon, especially when combined with another ingredient this mushroom farm has in abundance?"

He trailed off, his tone turning the statement into a leading question, clearly testing Corporal Kururugi's knowledge. To his immense frustration, Kururugi still couldn't quite figure out where the inspector was headed. "I'm sorry, Sir. I don't understand."

"Nelson, man, Nelson!" Inspector Garcia reminded him, before sighing. "Not one for chemistry are you, Corporal?"

"I wouldn't know," Corporal Kururugi said apologetically. "I never quite got that far before… Well, before things changed and my instructor went away."

"Ah." Inspector Garcia nodded and sighed again. This time, the exhalation sounded like it came from an older man, a man who had years stacked on his shoulders. "I'm sorry, I forgot. You are just so competent, Corporal, that it's difficult to remember that you are only fifteen."

I should still be in school, not in the military, Suzaku agreed. If only things were different… If only Lelouch had been able to somehow negotiate peace, or if Lelouch had been appointed the Viceregal-Governor…

"Actually, Sir," he corrected, "I'm sixteen now. My birthday was a few weeks ago, on the tenth."

"Ah, yes," the Inspector's expression grew tight across his face. "My apologies, Corporal."

"...Don't worry about it, Sir," Corporal Kururugi replied, at a loss for how else to reply. "But, can you tell me what you were getting at with the diesel, though?"

"Certainly, Corporal." Inspector Garcia favored him with another smile, commending him for his focus or perhaps simply happy with the change in topic. "Simply put, the farm has an abundance of fertilizer, and in particular a stockpile of ammonium nitrate. It's already a very dangerous substance, prone to detonation when mishandled or stored incorrectly. Combined with diesel, however, the fertilizer is highly explosive."

"So that's why we're here," Corporal Kururugi breathed, in awe all over again with the inspector's results. "You realized that they were making a bomb here!"

"I considered it a possibility," Inspector Garcia gently corrected. "Or perhaps they were selling materials that could be used to make improvised explosives for their guerrilla friends. Fertilizer bombs are hardly a revolutionary technology, and I'm sure that many in the local insurgent groups know how to put something worrying together. If the criminals resold the truck, perhaps the insurgents would have even driven our own truck back onto the yard before flicking the switch."

"I understand," Corporal Kururugi nodded along, finally getting the connections. "The rebels do business with the criminals; it's how they get money, materials, and access. Sometimes, they're even the same people. By cleaning up the local criminal groups who steal from His Majesty or from regular Britannians, you're cutting off the local rebels from those citizens!"

"That's right," Nelson grinned at him, clearly pleased. "Trying to hunt down each individual insurgent is a fool's game; you'll always miss some. But, if you cut down on their ability to arm themselves and attack anything important, you can render the actual fighters practically impotent."

"And once you manage that, you can just start detaining everybody connected to those you picked up in the sweeps," Corporal Kururugi continued. "You can rip out the criminal networks and in the process tear the rebels out of the community!"

"Precisely!"

This is so much better than the filtration camps! Corporal Kururugi felt almost drunk on the knowledge. This was a better way! A way to deal with the malcontents that poisoned all of the good people around them without having to kill all of the civilians. Of course, Inspector Garcia is still being needlessly nice to the criminals – I'm sure they'd talk just as readily after some rigorous interrogation. It's not like anyone would care, after all. Nobody cares about criminals and rebels. My people will thank me for ridding them of such parasites!

"So," Corporal Kururugi pressed, fascinated by his new discovery, "is this what you were doing against the ungrateful rebels back in your own area? Back in New Wales? Deprive them of the support of the criminal element and then rolling up their social networks?"

"At times," Inspector Garcia replied with a vague hand gesture. "That's almost in the rearview mirror these days, back at home. The work of the previous generation, of my predecessors. Most of the remaining guerrillas have been driven back into the jungle, up into the highlands and the mountains. They're still out there, squatting in the mud and the muck and the mosquitos, but far away from the Settlements, where the people who matter live."

"It must be nice," Suzaku said, "to have all of the violence so far away from everybody's homes… To have all of the rebels separated out from the innocents…"

"It does make the cleanup easier, whenever we do find one of their Maroon communities," agreed Inspector Garcia. "Sadly though, we have yet to fully push all of the violence out into the countryside. There are still plenty of criminal gangs operating in the favelas, and plenty of angry young people who go on individual rampages. They are pathetic, lashing out without any hope of truly achieving anything, but they are a persistent nuisance. I am sorry to say that we have yet to become a worthy Area, like those of the Homeland."

Corporal Kururugi felt a great rush of respect for the inspector. The man was a tireless warrior, striving towards a worthy goal; despite his own people's stubbornness, he and those before him had managed to find a place within the Britannian hierarchy and had found purposes worthy of respect, even from their overlords.

He wondered if he was seeing his future incarnate before him.

"Someday, Nelson," Corporal Kururugi said, entirely certain in his assurance, "I am sure you will make your people Britannian in every way that matters."

"Hopefully," Nelson responded, "and hopefully, you will convince your people of the wisdom of extending their submission to Britannia into their hearts and minds. If any Honorary of this Area can accomplish it, I suspect it might be you, Kururugi."

At the inspector's knowing look, Corporal Kururugi felt his heart sink all the way down to his boots. "So… You know, I take it? Sir?"

"Nelson," Inspector Garcia gently reminded him, "just Nelson. And of course I know. You didn't bother to change your personal name, much less your surname. It doesn't take a genius to figure out who you are."

"Then…" Suzaku gulped, "do they know? I mean… About…"

If they know that I'm the son of the last Prime Minister of Japan, why are they letting me walk around free? Unless… do they also know that I am the reason why the Japanese surrendered so soon…?

"As far as I know, they do not," Inspector Garcia asserted firmly. "The Britannians are many things, Corporal, but subtle is not one of them. I am fairly confident that, had they known that Kururugi Genbuu's only son had enlisted in an Honorary Legion, they would be trumpeting the news from every rooftop."

Suzaku couldn't help but agree. The Britannians were anything but subtle; one only needed to look upon the ever-climbing towers of the Settlement to realize that their culture was one of great dramatic gestures and flashy exhortations to conquer new domains.

"But… How can they not know?" He hated how plaintive the question sounded, but he had lived under the shadow of this particular sword for almost a year and a half, since his enlistment. Every day, he had dreaded discovery just as he had secretly longed for it. "I mean…" he continued, "I've never hidden my background, not really… I just never really brought it up. How can they not know who I am? I put my name down on the form when I took up the Oath."

"It's quite simple, Corporal," Inspector Garcia sighed. "They misspelled your name. Someone misspelled your name in the official files when they were entering the data from your enlistment papers, and nobody has noticed the error as of yet."

"That's…" Corporal Kururugi didn't know quite how to respond to such a mundane explanation.

That was it? That was all? He raged in the confines of his head. Weeks and months of wondering when the axe would fall, when the DIS would haul me away, and I never had to worry because of a random clerical error?!

A shudder passed through him as Suzaku suddenly realized that the day of his discovery had, in fact, finally come. After all, no matter how pleasant Inspector Garcia was, no matter how willing to answer questions and explain himself Nelson could be, he was still a police officer.

"...Are you going to tell them?" Suzaku didn't know what answer he was hoping to hear. "About who my father was?"

"...I think you're a good soldier, Corporal Kururugi," Nelson said after a moment of silent contemplation, "and I think that you will do great things for the Empire. I don't think that depriving the Empire of a good soldier out of a fit of unjustified paranoia serves His Majesty's interests. And besides," he smiled, "who am I to second guess the fine employees of the local Administration?"

I should protest against this, Corporal Kururugi knew. Purposefully hiding a fugitive from the Security Services is a crime, and even though I don't know if I was ever listed as a fugitive, if DIS or any of the other spooks knew I was still alive, surely they would want me. I should turn myself in, now that I know they aren't aware of me.

But what about the plan? Suzaku asked. If I get taken away or killed by the police, I won't be able to help my people build enough strength and respect to find security within the system. We will never be anything more than disposable, second-class citizens. My father was the one who doomed Japan, so don't I have a responsibility to give my people the best lives possible?

And besides, his inner voice added, my orders told me to do whatever Inspector Garcia decided. He's decided to conceal my identity, so who am I to go against him?

"Thank you, Inspector Garcia," Corporal Kururugi finally got out. "I'll keep your words in mind."

"I'm sure you will, Corporal," Inspector Garcia said with a nod, turning back to the farm, where a second team of police officers was inventorying the contents of the storage sheds and outbuildings. "In fact-"

Before the inspector could finish his thought, he was cut off by the shrill wailing of his phone, a sound that Corporal Kururugi had come to detest over the last five weeks. When he had asked Inspector Garcia why he had chosen such an offensive ringtone, the Seven Honorary had explained that he'd wanted a ringtone that was utterly impossible to ignore. The annoyance, it appeared, was both shared and entirely intentional.

"Ah, duty calls," Nelson quipped as he slid the phone open and put the mobile to his ear. "Inspector Garcia here."

The other half of the conversation was almost inaudible to Corporal Kururugi, but the news conveyed by the urgent murmurs was clearly dire. All sense of levity fled from Inspector Garcia, and it was very clearly Inspector Garcia once again, no longer Nelson.

"At 605 Cartwright?" Inspector Garcia confirmed, turning on his heel and beckoning to Corporal Kururugi as he started to briskly walk back to the car they had borrowed from the Navy's motor pool. "Fine. Tell whoever gets there first to set up a perimeter and to keep everybody there. Honoraries, Numbers, Britannians, whoever – we need witness statements, and I don't care what else they had planned for the evening."

Further inaudible murmurs issued from the phone as Corporal Kururugi clambered into the driver's seat, Inspector Garcia circling around to the passenger side door.

"If he can find a tarp or some sheeting, he can cover the body, if he thinks it will help keep the civilians calm," Inspector Garcia allowed, clearly in response to some query. "Otherwise, no. Nobody should touch the body. Don't let the medics haul it away; she's already dead, there's no point."

Corporal Kururugi turned the key and the car's electric motor hummed to life.

"Fine," Inspector Garcia said, "I'll be there in…" He covered the phone's speaker. "How long will it take to get to the intersection of Cartwright and Margaret? It's just south of the main gate."

"Twenty minutes," Corporal Kururugi replied immediately, easing the car onto the road, "assuming traffic's not too bad."

"Throw on the sirens," Inspector Garcia directed, before uncovering the phone. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't let anybody leave, don't let anybody touch the body or anything around it. And tell whoever takes charge of the scene to get everybody inside, preferably behind a thick wall. Garcia out."

The phone slid shut with a clack, and Inspector Garcia sagged back into his chair. From the corner of his eye, Corporal Kururugi saw him run a hand along the scar puckering his cheek, a gesture he had learned the older man used as a soothing motion when he was stressed.

After a quiet moment, the police inspector collected himself and sat upright in the passenger seat. "Well," he sighed, "it seems like our mysterious sniper is back at it again."

"Damn them," Corporal Kururugi muttered, his good mood rapidly descending into black anger. "I guess it was too much to hope that they'd been swept up with the gangs or whatever."

"Too much to hope for indeed," Inspector Garcia agreed with bleak humor. "Personally, I doubt that our friend the Sniper has any association with the gangs. Everything about the attacks screams 'lone gunman', except for his ability to flee the scene without anybody even noticing their departure."

The killings had begun a week before the inspector had arrived in Yokohama with Corporal Kururugi in tow. Despite a total lack of any suspects or leads, it was a practical certainty that the same person or group was behind all of the murders to date; each had been carried out with a high-powered rifle with sufficient strength to punch cleanly through the victim and often the wall behind them, and each victim had seemingly been shot at great range, judging by the complete lack of any sightings of the shooter.

"They're coming closer and closer together," Corporal Kururugi remarked as the car skidded around a corner, siren blaring, channeling his frustration through the pedal under his boot. "At first it was once a week, but the last one was only three days ago."

"The cool-down time is shortening," nodded Inspector Garcia. "Although it's probably too early to guess why. Perhaps they want more blood, perhaps they have a quota they need to hit before a certain time. Maybe they're just frustrated with the lack of any significant reaction on our part."

"They're not the only ones," Corporal Kururugi groused. While he was well aware that Inspector Garcia had been alluding to the media blackout regarding the sniper attacks, or what the police had taken to calling the Yokohama Sniper Attacks, he was more frustrated by the lack of any retaliation.

But who would we be retaliating against?

The thought was just as galling now as it had ever been, but the point remained. There was no sign that the local Numbers were concealing the elusive marksman in their ghettos, nor had any of the informers among the ranks of the Honorary Britannians overheard any gossip about any disgruntled janitors getting their hands on a rifle or whatever.

And if the DIS or the IBI have any Britannians under suspicion, they're not telling us anything about it.

"Have patience, Corporal," Inspector Garcia said encouragingly. "Sooner or later, they will slip up. Someone will see something or they will get sloppy, and then it will only be a matter of time before justice is served."

"You're right, Inspector," Corporal Kururugi acknowledged, "but how many innocent people will they kill before that happens?"

And, Suzaku added, how many of our people will pay the price when the retaliatory executions are mandated? Doesn't this terrorist understand what will happen? Don't they know what blood price the Britannians will demand? If only they would just… Just wait for me to get the system to work for the betterment of us all, instead of this… this stupidity!

Inspector Garcia had no response, and they drove the rest of the way to the scene of the Yokohama Sniper's latest attack in silence.

JUNE 23, 2016 ATB
POLICE STATION, FUNAKOSHICHO WARD, PORT YOKOSUKA IMPERIAL NAVAL BASE
1020

On the other side of the large one-way window, Corporal Kururugi was putting on a very credible performance of a reasonable officer willing to make a deal. It was abundantly clear, at least to Nelson Garcia, that it was not a role that came naturally to the young man. While Corporal Kururugi had been blessed with a deceptively open face and a veneer of friendliness, he had a troubling tendency to resort to forceful coercion at the drop of a hat whenever his inflexible inner world was challenged in the slightest.

But if I can convince him that simply beating down all of your challengers isn't the end-all to maintaining order, he has such potential…

And Area 11 desperately needs men who are more than just hammers.

Nelson sighed and returned to his own paperwork, periodically looking up to check in on the young corporal's progress. His own duties had kept him constantly busy since he had arrived in Area 11 five weeks ago and he couldn't spare the time to truly give the younger Honorary the quality instruction he needed, so Nelson had been forced to squeeze lessons into any available scrap of time, like now.

And with this 'Yokohama Sniper' business kicking off, I doubt my availability will improve in the foreseeable future.

It was a deeply frustrating situation; by prioritizing Corporal Kururugi's training as a beginner counter-insurgency specialist, Nelson would by necessity be sacrificing his own time-sensitive workload, but conversely emphasizing the backlog of old business would undercut Corporal Kururugi's development, leaving him just as focused on short-term gains as seemingly everybody else in this cursed Area. For a man who prided himself on competency and delivering quality work that could stand the test of time, both choices seemed like bad options.

Which, he concluded with a sip of bitter coffee, the Yokosuka station's brew no better than that offered by the Chuo outpost, is just Area 11 in a nutshell, isn't it?

In all of his time in His Majesty's service, Nelson Dutra Garcia had never had the misfortune to set foot in such a poorly administered Area as Area 11. Worse, the only time he had ever encountered such poor governance before had been at the sub-prefectural level, typically when the local intendant succumbed to flattery or gifts from the counts, earls, or estate-holding barons of his intendancy. In those cases, when the usual corruption had grown into an active detriment to the function of the state, it was an easy matter of replacing the intendant.

But who had the authority to remove a viceregal-governor? The hint was in the name: Such men ruled with viceregal power and reigned directly in His Majesty's name. Consequently, only the Emperor or his Chancellor could remove viceroys from their offices.

And considering that Area 11's viceregal-governor is fifth in line to the throne and liable to throw his support behind the Chancellor, the only way His Highness will be removed is in the course of a major power struggle inside the Imperial Household, something the current Emperor took considerable pains to ensure would not happen given his own rise to the Throne.

Which meant Area 11 was stuck with the leadership of Clovis la Britannia, the utmost source of almost all of its current woes.

Profoundly frustrating didn't even begin to cover Nelson's thoughts on the matter.

Every Area had its problems. For example, the hinterlands of Areas 5 and 6 were ravaged by Catholic and Gracchite insurgencies and by the endlessly inventive narco gangs who somehow managed to smuggle their wares into the EU, the Heartland, and even the Homeland itself.

Area 7 likewise had remnant Papist rebels squatting among the maroon communities of the jungles, not to mention its own criminal gangs among the destitute urban Number populations.

Area 8 was a smuggler's paradise, and keeping order on its far-flung islands was a Sisyphean task.

Areas 9, 10, and 12 had rebel movements as well, discontented Numbers backed by foreign sponsors; New Zealander and Papuan rebels backed by the nominally neutral Kingdom of Australia in Area 9, a swarm of Indochinese groups taking money from the Chinese whenever they weren't launching raids into Federation territory, and the same damned Catholics in Area 12 backed by the papal wealth from the far away EU.

None of these Areas had problems on the same scale as Area 11, however, and none were so crippled by deep-seated problems in the Administration itself. Indeed, in Nelson's opinion, the Administration was its own worst enemy.

It was a baffling situation: By dint of its massive Sakuradite lodes, Area 11 was the most important overseas possession in the Britannian Empire, the gem in the crown of the New Areas. Its proximity to both of the other Great Powers should have only accentuated the importance of good administration in the face of the circling Chinese and Europeans.

Perhaps it was that natural prosperity and proximity to the corrupting factor of foreigners, far from the eyes of Pendragon, that had attracted the worst of Britannia to the Area? Idealogues, lickspittles, and the brazenly corrupt… All flourishing at the expense of every part of the Area not directly involved in the Sakuradite industry.

In most Areas, his own homeland included, the Honorary Citizen system was used to give the cream of the Numbers, local elites and promising prospects, a stake in the Empire. In Area 11, it was a cruel parody, where the newly fledged Honorary Britannians were treated worse than the Numbers of most other Areas.

In regards to the Numbers themselves, the Empire had historically worked to steadily integrate Number populations into itself over time. When the Crown had first flown from the Isles to the Homeland, a general proclamation of emancipation in exchange for service had simultaneously replenished the depleted ranks of the Royal Army and had broken the back of the rival power bloc of the planter aristocracy. Then, the Empire had set to the task of rooting out any foes within its borders with ruthless expediency, killing entire tribes of natives to the last adult man and distributing the women and children to guardians willing to enlighten and elevate those fortunates to a Britannian level of understanding.

Those early years had imparted key lessons on dealing with subjugated populations to the Imperial Family. Bread had to be offered as well as the stick, and stinting on either only diminished the total returns. Rebellion had to be punished harshly, as it was when the Quebecois and Acadians had risen, but cooperation had to be rewarded as well, as the Cherokee had been rewarded en masse with Honorary Citizenship.

Which made the treatment of the Elevens all the more baffling to Inspector Garcia. Herding the rump urban populations into the shattered districts and walling them off with only the most basic of services available for use as unskilled labor pools, forcing rural populations onto estate villages or into company towns, deliberately leaving the Numbers uneducated and unable to participate in the economy beyond the most base level, and practicing collective punishment on a scale not seen since the end of the last Plains War against the Comanche Lords…

It's almost as if the Viceregal-Governor and his advisors want the Elevens to rebel. Honestly, if I were deliberately trying to set the conditions to make Number rebellion all but inevitable, I'd be hard-pressed to come up with something better than the official policy of Area 11…

Which, in a roundabout way, led Inspector Garcia to the matter of the so-called "Yokohama Sniper."

So far, the Sniper had claimed seven victims, taking their first Britannian only the day before, while he and Corporal Kururugi had been out overseeing the bust at the mushroom farm. Nelson had little doubt that the death toll would be significantly higher by the time the Sniper was brought down; past experience coupled with the complete lack of any leads so far told him as much.

It was a bit early in the investigation to come to conclusions, but the inspector had already begun to put together a profile based on the little evidence he had available.

Until yesterday, all of the victims had been Honorary Britannians, but their ages and gender had varied greatly. None of the victims had been killed by accident; each had been shot through the neck or the head. Several had been shot outside of charging stations, while two had been shot coming out of restaurants or stores. Of the victims, only one was a soldier or policeman, as one of the Honorary victims had been an off-duty policeman. The sole Britannian victim had been a sailor's wife.

All of the attacks had occurred in either the districts of the Yokohama Settlement zoned for Honorary Citizens, or in close proximity to Yokosuka Naval Base. The attacks took place at all hours of the day, with little preference for morning, afternoon, or evening, but so far none had taken place at night.

The same rifle had been used in each attack, as far as the forensics team could determine, based on their analysis of the rounds recovered from the scene of the last three attacks. The Sniper was apparently using either R-11M, the standard Army designated squad marksman rifle, or a similar civilian model with the same round.

Which is interesting, because an R-11M isn't exactly a small weapon, nor one built to be concealed. Anybody carrying one would be very obviously armed.

"Taken together," the conclusion to the report Nelson was finishing began, "it is almost certain that the Yokohama Sniper is an Eleven or a small group of Elevens engaged in an individual rampage against opportunistic targets. While a Britannian malcontent could execute a similar series of attacks on Honorary Citizens, motivated by similar factors as the Christmas Incident, the presence of a Britannian in Honorary districts populated predominantly by ethnic Elevens would have been noticed. The death of Mrs. Nora Evans further reduces the chances of a Britannian culprit."

And this is the reason why the Numbers aren't simply hammered into submission in a well run Area, Nelson thought, looking up from the keyboard to check on Corporal Kururugi again. The subject of the interrogation was scribbling away and chatting with the corporal, apparently on friendly terms. While the subject was clearly wary, he was still freely cooperating. We want them to fear us, not hate us. When they hate us, when they feel they have nothing to lose…

He glanced back over at the pile of incident reports. Six dead Honorary Citizens so far and one dead Britannian. A paltry butcher's bill so far, compared to the only recently suppressed rural rebellion in Niigata Prefecture but made far more ominous by its proximity to the second largest Settlement in Area 11.

When Numbers feel like they have nothing to lose, it's only a matter of time before rebellion breaks out. Even if we do catch this sniper, ten more will be ready to rise in his place. This isn't an isolated incident; it's a sign of the times.

It was painfully clear to Inspector Nelson Garcia, Imperial Bureau of Investigation, that only through a change of leadership in the Area paired with a thorough-going reform of its Administration could a Number rebellion, likely aided and abetted by dissident Honorary Citizens, be averted.

It was equally clear that no such change would be made. So long as the Purist Faction held sway over Prince Clovis, no reform would come. So long as Prince Clovis backed Prince Schneizel as the next true emperor, once Prince Odysseus stepped back as everybody expected, the Third Prince would retain his viceroyalty.

In that light, his duty was clear. The line had to be held until Prince Schniezel took the throne, until the Empire got the new and vigorous Emperor it deserved. As a genius and a statesman, surely the current Second Prince would understand the necessity for reform, and once Prince Clovis's support was no longer needed, he would clean house in Area 11. Until then, it was the duty of every loyal citizen and subject of the Empire, Britannian and Honorary alike, to keep the machine of state functional.

Hence his own service.

Hence his training of Corporal Kururugi.

Hence his eagerness to bring this case and all others like it to a rapid close.

The Empire had to hold until the next generation could take the mantle of leadership. Repeating the destruction of the Emblem of Blood could not be allowed, nor could dissension in the face of the Empire's many enemies, within and without.

Because if the Empire fractures, came the grim thought, it won't be the Britannians who see the worst of it. It will be the Honorary Citizens who will be caught up in the jaws of internecine war and ground to dust. Men like me, like Corporal Kururugi… If only the Britannians understood their Empire as well as we do. Perhaps then they wouldn't treat it with such contempt.

JUNE 28, 2016 ATB
ROYAL ELECTRIC REFUEL STATION, KONAN WARD, YOKOHAMA SETTLEMENT
1314

I never should have left Shinjuku.

A bead of sweat rolled down Kanae's cheek as the familiar, panicky refrain passed through her mind for what must have been the fortieth time so far that day. She liked to think that she hadn't made many mistakes in her twenty years of life, but she had surely made up for that surplus of temperance and good sense when she had volunteered to accompany Tanaka Chihiro on her mission to Yokohama.

It hadn't been a carefully considered choice. Obviously it hadn't been a considered choice in the slightest, otherwise she would have stayed back where it was relatively safe in Shinjuku.

And wasn't that a crazy thing to think?

But Kanae had never been able to resist Chihiro's persuasion, not since she'd attended middle school with the other woman back before the Conquest. For all that Chihiro had changed over the years, going from the smiley, happy-go-lucky schoolgirl Kanae could barely remember to… Well, to Chihiro as she was now, she had always been incredibly convincing.

And when Chihiro had stormed back into the hotel, spitting nails after being "sent away" to Yokohama, Kanae had been one of the handful to step up when her leader had asked for volunteers. The fiery passion in Chihiro's eyes had been enough for Kanae to overlook the stench of moonshine on her breath; her call to spread the war against the raping Britannians beyond Shinjuku's walls enough to let her awareness of Tanaka's unpredictable rage slip from her mind at the worst possible moment.

After two months spent in Chihiro's constant company, the shine had well and truly worn off. The drinking, once reserved for nighttime or company, had overtaken her leader, and now Chihiro was almost constantly drunk. The rage, loosely collared at the best of times, was a constant lurking menace.

Away from Shinjuku and the Commander's watchful eyes, Chihiro had gone feral.

And she had dragged Kanae and Sui, the third member of their little trio, down with her.

I never should have left Shinjuku.

Outside, the intersection's traffic signal flashed green, and Kanae mechanically sent the stolen van, full to the brim with hidden modifications and armed militants, trundling forwards. From behind her, the sound of one of those modifications sliding open sent her heart lurching in her chest, but Kanae didn't dare let her spiking adrenaline floor the accelerator or, even better yet, send her scrambling from the van entirely, oncoming traffic be damned.

Any outside observer could be a plainclothes policeman, ready to arrest any apparent Honorary stepping out of line and subject their unfortunate prey to the full rigors of Britannian "justice". Worse yet, any sign of disloyalty to the supine woman stretched across the floor of the van would lead to a brief yet painful existence as an object lesson about the wages of treachery.

Having borne witness to several of Chihiro's previous examples, Kanae almost preferred her chances in the hands of Britannia's dogs.

Ahead of the van, almost at the next intersection, the familiar neon crown of a Royal Electric refuel station glowed. Even though it was far from peak hours, there were still a few cars parked at the charger stations, their ports open and their drivers idling nearby or darting inside to grab a quick snack as their batteries topped off.

Behind Kanae, the distinctive sound of a coilgun's motor whirring to life cut through the sweat- and whiskey-laden air of the van's interior.

Another bead of sweat rolled down Kanae's cheek.

There aren't any police cars at the station, a part of her wailed, the words trapped behind her lips, and we're nowhere close to any Brit outpost!

But they were passing through the streets of the Settlement, down a road that skirted between a Britannian commoner district and one of the more upscale Honorary districts. According to Chihiro's drunken rantings, that made everybody here an enemy, uniformed or not, combatant or not. Either they were a Britannian and damned by virtue of blood, or an Honorary and damned by the oaths they had sworn.

Or they're Japanese and doing their best to work whatever sucky job they can find to make ends meet, just like most of the people back in Shinjuku. Just like me, and just like Chihiro, once upon a time.

Chihiro hadn't mentioned their people during those rants, and Kanae hadn't seen any reason to draw the woman's quicksilver temper her way by bringing herself to her leader's attention.

There hadn't seemed like there was any point to it.

Kanae felt differently now.

Just as the stolen white van came abreast of the refueling station, the car just ahead and to her left began flashing its turn signals. Kanae obligingly slowed down, waving to the other driver to scoot in ahead of her. With her dyed red hair and fake glasses, Kanae must have looked like a Britannian, as the other driver gave her a grateful wave before accelerating forwards, right through the light of the next intersection as it changed from yellow to red.

Kanae slowed to a halt, her heart in her mouth. Any moment now…

As soon as that light turns green, she knew, as soon as we start moving forwards, past that charging station… Another life will end.

She wondered who it would be, whether it would be a Britannian family or a Japanese one that would have an empty spot at their table starting from tonight's dinner and stretching on forever.

I should say something, do something…

The mere thought made her flinch as Kanae imagined Chihiro's furious glare, remembered the wet sound of bones popping out of joints.

Do something! Kanae castigated herself. Say something!

But the words wouldn't come. Her throat had closed up as her hands, wet with sweat, clenched down on the steering wheel. Time seemed to flatten out as Kanae fought for breath. This wasn't what she had signed up to fight for. This wasn't where she wanted to be, who she wanted to be, the getaway driver for a murderer who had dropped the pretense of fighting for anything beyond revenge when her little sister, her last surviving family member, had rejected her by choosing a life of pacifism.

But it was too late to back out. Too late to turn back.

You coward… Kanae cringed, whimpering as she tried to escape her own thoughts, knowing without any doubt that it was true, that she was a coward. Stuck between a devil pocked with burn scars and a sea of terror and pain, she was scared, too scared to do anything to help anybody.

I never should have left Shinjuku…

The light turned green.