"So," Bill asks with a grin, "have you ever had the chance to play King of the Mic before?"

King of the Mic? The fuck is that? You know anything, Suzaku?

I might have heard of it once or twice, but... no, I couldn't give you any details.

"Can't say that I have."

"It's a Britannian bar and club game," Bill explains, "the origins of which supposedly date back to celebrations and re-enactments of King Alwin the first repelling the Roman invasion of our ancient homeland over two thousand years ago. But since you're coming from 3HID, I guess it's not too strange that you wouldn't be familiar with it. Basically, the King gets up on stage, takes the microphone, and sings whatever they feel like on the karaoke machine. Everyone else in the room, up to three people at a time, try to take it from you, and you fight them off. When you finish your song, you can either pick another one and try to extend your reign, or choose to step down and name a successor."

"Of course," he adds with a laugh, "any real Britannian can go for at least three rounds. The Club even has a little Hall of Fame up above the bar, for people who hold house records for invaders repelled or for extended reigns."

Ah, so it's like King of the Castle but with a microphone stand. That makes sense.

Now hold on a fucking minute, isn't this just another name for Bloody Palace mode?! And also an excuse for a club full of Britannians to attack us en masse while justifying it as a regular party game?!

We're expected to fight back, so it's fine. I'll take care of fending off attackers, and you can feed me lyrics to whatever songs you put on the playlist.

If you say so...

I hand control of our body back to Suzaku, before our mouth turns up in a calm smile. "Okay then, I'd like to give it a try - if I'm allowed to, I mean. Are there any other rules I should know about?"

Bill chuckles and nods, closing his eyes in thought, arms crossed over his chest. "The way we play it here, the King has to keep at least one hand on the mic at all times. Invaders aren't allowed to try grabbing it directly, but force the King to drop it by striking them. Punches, kicks, knees, elbows, and headbutts are the primary tools of the trade here. Anyone can hit as hard as they need to, as long as they don't cause permanent damage."

"What about grappling?" Suzaku asks with the full awareness that we're going to have one hand occupied the entire time we're on stage.

"It's acceptable to grab hair or flesh," Bill explains, "but we try to avoid clothes or accessories if you can."

So, wait, hold on - people get sensitive about their shit being wrecked, I get that, okay, fine. But everyone here is A-OK with paying potential hospital bills to recover from getting their asses kicked?!

I can feel Suzaku internally heave a sigh, and a wave of exasperation washes over me. Welcome... to the lowest common denominators in Britannia's military. Our medicine is highly advanced compared to your world, which allows people to recover from injuries and go through rehabilitation far faster… and, in turn, makes people reckless.

But, medical expenses-!

Partner, you wouldn't believe what military insurance covers.

As Suzaku thinks about it, his experiences and knowledge on the subject flit across the border between his mind and mine… fuck, he's right.

We step onto the stage and I pick out a song worth using to ourselves, one of the less open-minded - or perhaps, just more honest - clients starts to get impatient. "Come on and hurry it up so we can kick your ass, you bloody Number!"

"Hey dude, what the fuck-"

That's our cue!

"I am not a Number," Suzaku roars! "I AM A FREE MAN!"

The crowd meet our defiant shout with a clamor of their own, as a mocking and sinister laughter bombards the entire club through its speaker system.

Then the drums hit... and all hell broke loose.

While Suzaku and his psychic passenger were preparing to throw hands and feet with an entire club full of racist Britannians, conflict of an altogether different sort was brewing back at Camelot.

When Lloyd Asplund first entered their mobile operations center, his first warning sign was of a subtle tension filling the air, not unlike a static charge. Mariel and Cecile were quietly working at their respective consoles, pointedly enough not interacting with each other.

Rather than address the circumstances in front of him, the Earl chose instead to focus on his own priorities. "Where's our new devicer? I was planning to get his feedback on the Lancelot's performance, now that we've made headway on processing most of the black box data."

"He was already scheduled to be off-duty today," Elle explained. "And since you hadn't said anything yesterday, I let him off."

"Given that we'll be spending the next few days on maintenance either way," Cecile added, "there will be every chance to make needed adjustments during that period."

Lloyd considered their words for a moment... and rather than reprimand the ladies for aiding and abetting their newest member's delinquency on his first full day with the team, let out a sigh. "So be it, I expect from your tone that you've been able to drum up some manner of nuisance that I won't be able to pawn off on you."

Without getting up from her console, Elle held up a sheaf of papers for him. "Requisition forms."

Taking the files, Lloyd hummed as he flipped through them with a critical eye. "Yes, for desert-spec factspheres to mitigate future instances of the sensor blindness caused by yesterday's stunt in that debris cloud... and proposals for researching and designing a miniaturized Blaze Luminous Screen that would outright prevent airborne particles from damaging factspheres altogether. Yes, I expect that would see wide enough use for His Highness to greenlight the expense."

And based on her screen, it looked like the redhead had already begun drawing up prototype schematics.

She's almost aggressively focused today...

"Additionally," Cecile said as she followed Lloyd to his desk with her arms full of yet more paperwork, "I have the after-action report for Shinjuku finished. It's going to be a few days before everything is processed and finalized, but I have Sgt. Hirazawa's agreement to backdate Suzaku's transfer from 3HID to our unit. This way, he will retroactively be considered a member of ASEEC, and promoted to Warrant Officer with the required security clearance to operate with us."

"Ah, just lovely! I can always trust you to get niggling little things like this taken care of, Cecile. Excellent work."

"As supervising authority," she asked, "do you have anything to add or remark upon in my report?"

Lloyd casually waved the matter away, not even bothering to look up from the prototype designs he'd just been given. "Hm? No, no, I'm sure whatever you have on there's all fine and dandy. Feel free to sign for me wherever it's needed."

Cecile stared at the Earl, a stern frown slowly forming on her face. "You know I'm not going to forge your signature."

Curses, foiled again.

While Lloyd was lamenting his inability to dodge paperwork, Elle narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "...it hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet. How can you already have all of that done?"

"I started drawing up the paperwork on our side while Suzaku was still unconscious," the bluenette calmly explained, "so that we'd have it ready in case he accepted our offer to come work with us."

"And 3HID just... dropped everything to get rid of him the instant you got in contact with them?"

"Yes, as if they were desperate; Sgt. Hirazawa seemed as though he couldn't be rid of Suzaku quickly enough. As his forces were withdrawing from the combat zone across the defensive perimeter, he personally came in and made his required signatures shortly before Suzaku deployed in the Lancelot."

Cecile's gloomy face told the story better than words would be able to, and Elle turned away as she struggled to process what went unsaid and reconcile it with her lingering possessiveness.

"My, my, my! I dare say," Lloyd began with an alarmingly bright smile, "this is playing out just like one of those romantic dramas you're so fond of, Mariel. You know, those toony ones the Elevens used to make."

"They're not Elevens," Elle replied with the exhaustion of a needlessly informative explanation given and brushed aside countless times before, "they're Japanese. You're talking about anime, and there are still Japanese owned and operated companies that continue to produce and air them in accordance with Britannian telecommunications guidelines."

"Right, where the classroom is suddenly shaken up by the appearance of a mysterious transfer student coming into the class, and for some inexplicable reason the strapping young lad has half the female classmates and the teacher falling over themselves for him! You know the one, right?"

Elle groaned, leaning back into her chair and slowly bringing a palm to cover her face. "A vague description like that can apply to dozens of different series…"

"Yes, of course, they're all generic anyway," Lloyd casually replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, "and the thing they have in common is the question - who is our oblivious young man going to date? Will it be... the awkward but friendly girl next door? Or maaaaybe the softer, doting upperclassman with sad eyes will prove to be more his type?"

Elle and Cecile glanced at each other, as tension filled the air like a static charge.

"But given the setup thus far," Lloyd continued, gazing up at the ceiling with his chin in his hand, "I can only wonder. ...does that mean I'm the gay option?"

The previous tension snapped in an instant, before matching looks of alarm and faint horror came upon both ladies as their minds forcibly conjured the desperately unwanted mental image of anyone taking a romantic or sexual interest in Lloyd Asplund.

If anyone had stepped inside just then, they would have reported the truck's internal thermometer as defective - because the entire room felt like it had turned sixty degrees colder, an icy malice radiating from the ASEEC angels towards their boss.

"Oh well," Lloyd casually sang out as he got started on signing his accursed paperwork. "I certainly hope not. I've no interest in such things to begin with~"

Elle let out a whimper. "Why'd my dad ever let you watch over me as a kid?"

"Because it paid handsomely for my engineering studies, and you were so well-behaved that all I had to do was put you in front of the TV and keep you fed - giving me plenty of time to conduct my own business."

A soft cry of despair echoed through the trailer. "So knowing you is my punishment for not acting out as a kid?"

Cecile tried to offer a smile, the earlier rivalry a thing of the past. "They say that no good deed goes unpunished?"

"...yeah," the redhead muttered with a chuckle at her own expense. "I guess so."

Contrary to what certain bleeding-heart Unies might have to say, Bethany Allen felt she was a pretty reasonable Britannian Knight. Sure, the Elevens were an inferior people - but it isn't as if they chose to be born that way. Inferior or not, the various Numbers were people all the same, with their own lives and families and ambitions… and all the Numbers had to do in order to enjoy peace and prosperity under enlightened Britannian rule was to either accept their role in life, or to demonstrate heart and soul worthy enough of rising above it.

"NOW I'M SICK OF THIS WAITING, SO COME ON AND TAKE YOUR SHOT!"

Take this Kururugi boy, for instance, so brazenly taunting her increasingly aggressive peers to come and attack him if they were brave enough.

"YOU CAN SPIT ALL YOUR INSULTS, BUT NOTHING YOU SAY'S GONNA CHANGE US!"

Almost two dozen of her comrades had already been beaten to unconsciousness over the last song and a half, more than a few of them struck down in a single blow. Indeed, enough bodies were starting to clutter the stage that a few of the wimpier lads in her company had dragged them to a far wall of the club where they'd be out of the way.

"This boy's the real deal," she murmured into a mug of rum.

Up on stage, Suzaku kicked some linguistically-challenged yokel right in his red-neck, the force of it blasting the hick back into the crowd and knocking over a handful of other carousers.

Easily regaining his footing, the Eleven youth gave the entire crowd - herself included - a defiant glare. "You can sit there and judge me, say what you want to… I'll never let you win…!"

Bethany promptly chugged the rest of her drink and slammed it on the counter with a grin; any Britannian knew a challenge when they heard one.

As one soldier after another rushed the stage, Suzaku twirled his cordless microphone before answering them all in Britannia's unofficial secondary language: violence.

"I'M A NIGHTMARE!"

A reedy pilot went down with a clothesline.

"I'M DELUDED!"

Bill Coventry stepped up for his piece of the action, and Suzaku rewarded him with a vicious knee to the stomach that caused spit to fly from his open mouth before snaking his arms around Bill's and locking them behind his neck in a double underhook - "THAT'S WHAT THEY'VE ALWAYS SAID!"

- and driving the bigger man face-first into the hard tile platform with a sickening thud!

To the Britannians, Suzaku thought, I'm almost human. But the Japanese? They won't even let me have that much. To them, I'm just a dog to be kicked and shot at.

Kicking up back to his feet, Suzaku met Wordsworth with a punch to the jaw!

"I'm a lost cause, not a hero! But I'll make it on my own!"

A lone tear formed in the corner of Suzaku's eye.

Not a damn soul on this planet believes we'll achieve anything at all…!

"IT'S ME AGAINST THE WORLD~~~!"

More bodies rushed the stage, as Bethany held back to study her foe.

"I'm a nightmare! I'm deluded! That's what they've always said!"

And with a flurry of kicks and the occasional punch or chop, they were all defeated with ease. "I'm a lost cause, not a hero! But I'll make it on my own! I've gotta prove them wrong, they'll never bring us down, we'll never fall in line, I'll make it on my own, it's me against the world!"

Suzaku spun in place on stage and gave the ceiling a vicious pointer finger as the song faded out into static, while Bethany smirked and gave him a half-sarcastic round of applause. "You're pretty good, kid. Enough that I thought I'd let you move on to another song before I took my shot at you."

He's been up there for at least ten minutes singing and fighting, she realized with wide eyes, and I can't even tell if he's broken a sweat. "In fact…"

Her next words were interrupted when a low-ranking infantryman crawled up from the floor next to her, eyes bloodshot from alcohol. "You stinking Eleven, get ready to learn your place!"

Up on the stage, Suzaku bit his lip and paused for a few seconds, as if struggling with himself over how to respond. Within seconds, however, his expression grew annoyed and he tsked. "You know something funny? You guys, in your ignorance and your arrogance, saw fit to throw hands with me. You came in blind to fight with an opponent you had no understanding of, and you just assumed you had more than enough to come through it okay. And now that I'm kicking your asses and making fools out of you, you want to act like this is somehow my fault? After some of you guys tried to run some kind of bogus assimilation test to, I don't know, feel better about yourselves through some oddball delusion that you're only racist or abusive to bad minorities and not to good ones?"

With his hands on his hips and a shake of his head, the Eleven… no, Bethany corrected herself, the Honorary played up a dramatic sigh before he accusingly pointed at the intoxicated fool who'd spoken up. "Don't go calling yourself a Britannian when you act like an Eleven, you third-rate soldier!"

The drunk - a Private who'd just gotten off-duty, if Bethany guessed correctly - quickly grew incensed. "You bloody piece of shi-"

"No, no, wait, you're right," Suzaku almost immediately said with one hand raised in apology. "I take back what I just said."

Just before the Private's ego could inflate, Suzaku verbally murdered it with his next words. "You haven't started kissing up to the boot on your throat while they're looking at you, only to immediately talk shit behind their back the instant they turn around. It's close, but not quite the same behavior... I guess that makes you an Honorary Eleven, then!"

"Now," he continued as the karaoke machine cued up some upbeat music, "as much as I really could style on you losers 'til sunset? I do have some business scheduled later for today, so instead I'm just gonna spend the next four minutes obliterating anyone who comes at me."

Bethany grinned and warmed up with some light stretches, as wakening soldiers on either side of her got back up for a second attempt at knocking Kururugi off of his pedestal.

Shaking his head as if to clear out some cobwebs, Suzaku steadied his footing and extended his right arm in a bring it gesture, staring down the crowd over his microphone. "Are you ready, Steve? ...Mick? ...Andy? ...all right fellas, LET'S GOOOO!"

Then he leapt off the stage to kick a sergeant in the face, and it turned into a bar room blitz.

Elsewhere...

"Oh hey, did you hear?! Kallen made it in today!"

"Er… who?"

"The heiress to House Stadtfeld! She's got a kind of elegant beauty that's a league above the rest of us, and she keeps on her grades even while she's stuck missing class from a frail constitution!"

"So she's a fragile but gorgeous rose, huh? ...wow, just like a real-life manga heroine!"

If only this rose could skewer you all on her thorns, Kallen lamented behind a plastic smile. And if all it takes to impress you is to do my classwork elsewhere and retain the bullshit lies you call history, then it just proves you're as vapid as you look.

And so it was that Kallen Kozuki stepped into her homeroom class, drawing strength from her vindictive thoughts to make it through another day in the ever-vile cesspit of Britannian debauchery called Ashford Academy.

No sooner had Kallen crossed the threshold than a gaggle of Britannian schoolgirls her age - all of them wide-eyed and smiling, unknowing and uncaring of how their country had built their comfortable lives atop the corpses of her fellow Japanese - came up to her, firing invasive questions and statements at her like bullets.

"...oh no, you were right - she is on another level."

"Oh wow, your hair looks so nice! What kind of conditioner do you use?"

"It's been, like, a couple weeks since you came in, right? How're you feeling?"

"Yeah, you look a little unsteady. Here, let me get your chair for you!"

"Um... I could hold your bag if you like? I mean, if it isn't a bother-"

Kallen suppressed her anger at the girls crowding her, and instead presented a mask of pleasant exasperation. "Oh, you don't have to trouble yourself on my account…" Fucking harpies, either say something useful or get out of my face.

The redhead allowed the self-righteous scum surrounding her to guide her to her seat, but kept a firm hold of her bag; no doubt the quiet, meek-looking girl in glasses - Einstein, she faintly remembered - had been hoping to try and sneak a glance through her shit, not that Kallen was fool enough to keep anything suspicious in there. "How have things been, everyone?"

And so, Kallen settled in for another day of parsing usable information about the Britannians' mood and movements through hours' worth of idle gossip and chatter.

One bitch was a daughter of someone in the Knightpolice, who mentioned that Shinjuku would be under higher surveillance for a while… but given the kind of bloodbath that had literally just occurred there, that would have been self-evident to anyone with two brain cells.

As the 'conversation' soon devolved into gossip about the relationships of people she didn't even know, Kallen steadily tuned it out, her thoughts turning instead to yesterday's battle.

That white bastard just toyed with us and preached at us, like we were unruly children… as if a fucking Britannian could ever have any claim to the moral high ground. He didn't even think we were worth killing.

Even now, she could still hear that guy's self-righteous bitching...

'Your short-sighted attempt at heroism just got tens of thousands of innocent Japanese slaughtered like animals. GET DISCOURAGED!'

Son of a bitch thinks he can blame us for standing up to Britannia, when they're the ones forcing us to take up weapons in the first place. Our brothers and sisters are being exterminated no matter what we do, so our only choice is to fight back. Everything bad that happens is all Britannia's fault.

But, even as Kallen thought that, she remembered landing amidst the carnage after she ejected, and watching the White Bastard charge up a falling building, just to save a Japanese civilian that had been trapped near the top.

And then she saw Konoe put other civilians on their side in danger, trying to exploit the unexpected moment of honor and turn it into an opening.

Damn it Konoe... I know you took it as hard as I did when they took Naoto from us, but still… to open fire on our own people like that, using them as hostages to try and take down White? Even if White's an insufferable hypocrite of a Britannian, Konoe, what you did…

It didn't sit right with her, although Kallen struggled to admit it in so many words even to herself.

Of course, she could imagine his rebuttal, too. That every child of Japan was obligated to fight against their oppressors, and that dying for the rebellion was still a better fate than living helplessly under Britannia's boot.

Maybe… maybe I'd feel better about your gamble if it had worked.

Just as her thoughts started to turn toward her other captured comrade, a slender youth with dark hair and delicate features hastily stepped into the room, the teacher hot on his heels. "Mr. Lamperouge, my patience with your recurrent truancy is wearing thin - a vice-president of our Student Council should set a better example for the other students!"

"You're absolutely right, professor, my behavior up to this point has been completely unacceptable! I'll strive to do exactly as you say from today onward!"

While the boy's words were spoken with an air of sincerity, and his expression sufficiently chastised, Kallen thought she caught an undercurrent of sarcasm in that promise.

So did most of her female classmates, apparently, giggling like they were sharing an inside joke.

I guess he's nice enough to look at, at least as far as Britannians go, Kallen privately admitted. But you can tell from that kind of attitude and the rumors around him that he's just a deadbeat playboy who'll never get anywhere in life on his own. Coasting on what he inherited from his noble or wealthy parents… that Lelouch Lamperouge is just like every other shallow, vapid, oblivious Britannian brat in this school.

As the final notes of Ballroom Blitz faded into silence, Suzaku slowly turned on his heel and swept his gaze across the interior of Club Whitehall. Tables had been upturned, but not damaged. The battered bodies of unconscious and wounded patrons littered the establishment, and not a whisper could be heard.

"Looking at all this now," he muttered, "I… it looks like I went overboard."

Then, like a meerkat on the African savannah, the bartender darted up from behind the counter and let out a soft whistle as he eyed the devastation. "Eden Vital…!"

And then Suzaku remembered that this was a business, and someone's private property. "Er... I know I've made a huge mess, but I'll take responsibility and-"

The older, half-bald man shook his head with a laugh. "Responsibility?! Kid, I've been waiting for someone like you to come around here and mop the floor with these guys."

That brought Suzaku's thought process to a screeching halt. "...what do you mean?"

"I mean, last week a bunch of Purists thought they'd use my club for a hangout and started displacing my usual customers, and there wasn't shit I could do about it. ...c'mere kid, have a drink - on the house."

Suzaku blinked, before nodding with a cautious smile. "Well, I've got an appointment at Ashford Academy later, so-"

"So one light cocktail shouldn't be a problem, given what they say the Ashfords used to get up to."

Suzaku still wasn't entirely comfortable with taking the bartender up on his offer… but the young soldier felt even worse about the idea of turning down his hospitality and risking offending him, so in the end he accepted. "You're a Britannian, though, so why couldn't you just call the police?"

The bartender scoffed, even as he started mixing. "Aye, I'm a Britannian alright… an indigenous sympathizer who's too old and weak to go around raising his voice when young punks start acting like they own the place. No, kid, the police won't bother to get involved in a situation like mine unless people start dying."

With a clink of glass on wood, the bartender set a drink on the counter and pushed it toward Suzaku, who accepted it with a nod. "My thanks."

"Who sent you around, anyway?"

Suzaku didn't answer the question at first, taking a sip. "One of my superiors, Elle Lubie." A moment later, he closed his eyes with a smile. Heh. Once upon a time, I would have struggled not to say 'senpai'. I've really come a long way...

"Ah," the bartender mused. "The Baron's kid."

And then Suzaku sputtered, struggling not to choke on his tea. "Huh?!"

"Oh, the little lady didn't tell you? Guess she must've wanted to keep it quiet for some reason."

Yeah, One distractedly thought from a dark recess in Suzaku's mind. Like being concerned that Suzaku might be reluctant about getting close to her if he knew she was nobility. Or maybe she's just modest about it in general terms, and wants to be acknowledged more for her own accomplishments rather than her dad's. I can think of any number of reasons Elle might not advertise or brag about being a noble heir...

Suzaku considered that for a moment, and found he couldn't argue. Well, as long as you don't care about her family status, I guess nothing else needs to be said about it.

A moment later, however, he turned his focus inward, putting small talk with the bartender on the back burner. Although, up to this you've been… a lot more quiet than I expected. What's on your mind?

He invoked Eden Vital, One explained. And I'm freaking the fuck out trying to piece together what it's about.

Memories and images fluttered between their consciousnesses, but One was too frustrated and panicky for Suzaku to be able to process them to any meaningful degree.

Suzaku nodded. I couldn't tell you much about it because Numbers are usually barred from attending services, but Britannia's primary religion is the Holy Church of Eden Vital. I know it wasn't in the cartoon you watched -

No, One growled, but it's something similar to an alternate universe manga where Lelouch is basically Master Asia, and depending on what that means for the world we're in it throws FUCKING EVERYTHING INTO A GODDAMN MESS-

Suzaku interrupted the coming rant with the mental equivalent of a poke to the forehead. If it does turn into a problem, we aren't going to solve it by getting upset. All we can do is to deal with what happens, when it happens.

One didn't 'say' anything more, but his dissatisfaction continued to roil across their shared heart like a toxic black cloud.

"I'm going to have the sign out front changed by the end of the week," the bartender vowed. "Be sure to come back around sometime, eh?"

Suzaku nodded, before finishing his drink. "Of course, sir."

With that, he made his way out of the club and back to the street. "It's almost," he said to himself while blending into pedestrian traffic, "so there's another few hours until we need to get to Ashford. In that time, we can look up some movie theaters-"

Suzaku's thought was interrupted by distant shouting, before someone ran into him from behind with a distinctly female yelp of surprise.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to run you over like that!"

Suzaku quickly rose from the sidewalk back to his feet, before helping the girl to do the same. "I'm fine, don't worry about it. More importantly, miss, are you okay?"

The girl, wearing a simple white blouse and a soft yellow skirt, gratefully accepted Suzaku's hand. Long pink hair flowing in the breeze, even in her current haste the girl - or rather, the lady - had an air of exceptional elegance about her. "I'm not hurt, but bad people are chasing me and I need some help…!"

Boy and girl made eye contact, and for a moment it was like the world stood still, absolute shock running through both parts of One's and Suzaku's shared mind so thoroughly that neither could help or stop the murmur that escaped their lips.

"...Euphie?!"

The Princess stared back in kind, her own lovely eyes just as wide with surprise. "Wait, aren't you…?"

An instant later, loud and angry shouts pierced the spell that had come over the two. "I've spotted the Peace Mark, she's with an Eleven!"

Euphemia's surprise turned to alarm and a hint of regret, before she took hold of Suzaku's hand and tugged him toward an alley. "I'm sorry, but we need to go! Now!"

Her touch and her words jolting Suzaku from his reverie, the soldier nodded and immediately fell into step. "Of course!"

[-to be continued...]