The only light in the otherwise pitch-black room was from the television's evening news broadcast, as Hi-TV had put together a primetime program analyzing the failed coup attempt in Shibuya just days earlier.
"And joining us tonight as a special expert is the legendary former engineer who first dreamt up the Knightmare Frame, Baron Leonard Lubie."
Leaned forward on the side of his new dormitory bed like a gargoyle, Suzaku watched quietly as the camera cut to a wider angle, revealing a grey-haired man at the news table who almost looked old enough to be his grandfather.
So that's Elle's dad…
Suzaku's Geass chose that moment to flash, and he immediately threw a hand up over the offending eye to block out whatever fresh new possible tragedy it had been about to show him.
I'm really getting tired of this…
Suzaku couldn't help but agree. I wouldn't care as much if it would just show us something good for once.
"My Lord," the handsome blonde newscaster began, "much speculation has been rampant on Britannia's internet about… this Honorary Britannian fellow unexpectedly conscripted into guard duty for Viceroy Euphemia on the day, with some people on the fringes arguing that the boy should be knighted immediately in light of the supposed talent shown on the news and combat footage that's been released to the public thus far. As an expert on all matters with respect to the Knightmare Frame, can you settle the matter once and for all?"
"I believe I may be able to," Leonard said with a slow nod. "But before I share my assessment of the young man as a pilot… I think it important to first establish context regarding the Frames involved in this affair, so that your viewers may have a more complete understanding of the full picture. If I may?"
The anchorman was only too happy to agree. "Of course! Let's get a split-screen going for reference, shall we?"
The first image to come up on split-screen was an otherwise-standard Sutherland with orange pauldrons.
Leonard politely coughed into his fist and, almost like a stereotypical kind grandfather, took a brief moment to remove and wipe clean his glasses before beginning his lecture.
"The Sutherland, as most viewers are aware, is the most commonly-used Knightmare Frame, or KMF, in Britannia's military. As the first KMF designed explicitly for anti-KMF performance, it serves as the equipment of choice in most modern urban combat operations, boasts armor and horsepower greater than most conventional artillery platforms, and is capable of exploiting the dense and tall urban terrain of a metropolis to operate in a three-dimensional battlefield."
The anchorman nodded, arms folded over his chest. "This Sutherland in particular seems to have been cursed with one short-sighted pilot," he joked, "broadcasting their Pureblood affiliation for all to see with that flashy shoulder armor!"
"Perhaps so," Leonard mused. "But short-sightedness or not, we know that the coup forces in Shibuya had five of these machines taking part in the battle. And let's not forget that until just this week, Soresi was celebrated as a highly skilled and experienced pilot in our Area – perhaps not being so capable as to be named in the same breath as Margrave Jeremiah Gottwald or of Sir Randall Brown," the retired professor admitted, "but still quite famed."
The anchor made a brief little show of visibly digesting this information he could hardly have been ignorant about, likely realizing that his original question was destined to meet with an unfavorable answer and steeling himself to come to terms with it. "Yes, that no-good punk Soresi did have a clear advantage in numbers…"
"And that's not all," Leonard gently cut in. "If you could show us the machine that was used to protect Her Highness, please?"
Having been directly called out on it, the editorial crew diligently replaced the sleek and impressive angle shots of the Purist-regalia Sutherland with still shots of a visibly-battered Knightpolice Glasgow.
"Thank you. The Glasgow, as some will remember, was Britannia's very first mass-produced KMF model, the agility, versatility, and logistical convenience of which brought our invasion–"
"Annexation," the anchorman tried in vain to correct.
"-of Japan–"
The anchor cringed, beginning to realize just why the nobleman sitting across from him had been so pleased to stay out of the public eye for the last decade.
"-to a mercifully and uncommonly brief end, sparing more Japanese lives than might have otherwise been expected of the initial campaign."
The news anchor unconsciously shot a brief look at someone offscreen as though pleading not to be fired, while a somber Leonard hesitated for a split-second and brought a handkerchief up behind his glasses. "Excuse me, age hasn't been the kindest to my eyes. …where was I?"
"Ah, yes. So, what I've spent the last few moments describing is the Glasgow as it was designed and used in the field eight years ago. Since the mass-production of the Sutherland, Glasgow models were subsequently retired in bulk and have largely been either disassembled for spare parts or stripped down for civilian use – most commonly by the Knightpolice."
Next to the beaten-up one he'd piloted to save Euphemia on that day, Suzaku watched as new graphics were put up alongside it to show off a classic Glasgow from a museum exhibit and an off-the-presses modern KP variant.
"The customized variant of the Glasgow seen throughout Area Eleven," Leonard said in tandem with a visible sigh of relief from his host, "is visibly slimmer, as you can see from the military-grade armor plating that's been replaced with cheaper ablative armor – that is, it falls off when it breaks so the machine beneath comes out undamaged – that's only rated for small arms fire. The Knightpolice Glasgow is designed for chasing down an armored car full of gunmen and suppressing street gangs, not for battle with anything close to an equal opponent."
"In short," the Baron concluded with a confident nod, "you might say that using a single Knightpolice-type Glasgow to fight against a team of Sutherlands would be like taking a motorcycle to a demolition derby. If it doesn't bother you, could we see how that worked out for our young man the other day?"
It clearly bothered the anchor and news team more than they were prepared to admit, but they also weren't going to outright refuse a nobleman who'd been presenting himself as so unfailingly polite and reasonable.
And so it was that Suzaku was treated to helicopter footage of his own battle two days prior, which halted on a slow motion replay of the moments where he took over Kewell Soresi's Sutherland.
Even the anchor was hard-pressed not to show amazement at the manuever's successful execution, and Leonard leaned close with utmost gravity.
"You asked me earlier if I, as a veteran researcher who once had the honor and pleasure of designing personal machines for Sir Bismark Waldstein and the late Marianne vi Britannia with their direct input, could assess whether this Honorary Britannian youth displayed skill worthy of knighthood."
The anchor suppressed a swallow as he offered an agreeable nod and attempted to close things out before they could be further emphasized–
"This young man," Leonard pressed, "whom we see can perform these kinds of maneuvers on, we are told, only his second deployment – with an unfamiliar, extremely outdated machine at that."
Resigned to how this was playing out, the anchor gave up any pretense of trying to continue the narrative his producers and managers must have expected from him. "You're saying that anyone who would question –" he glanced down at his notes for an instant "– Warrant Officer Kururugi's ability, then, is either completely ignorant or in outright denial?"
Leonard's mouth set in a thin line. "I am saying that, without question, Suzaku Kururugi will be made a Knight of the Round in less than a year. He isn't merely talented; he is divinely talented."
Not only did the anchor do a double take at the proclamation, but a chorus of equally shocked gasps and whistles from the off-camrea crew rang out at the same time. "Begging your pardon, my Lord, but are you saying that this Honorary Britannian is as capable of a pilot as the Knight of One? As talented as the Flash?"
With one hand visibly trembling on his desk, the anchor locked eyes and asked, "Are you suggesting that he's–"
"I am saying," Leonard interrupted in a way that suggested he realized he might have let something slip, "that given the time to refine and develop his skills through experience, his prowess someday will be spoken of with the same reverence and respect as that of our most beloved heroes. I look forward to the day when our young Warrant Officer carves out a legend of his own someday," Leonard said with a smile. "I can only wish him the best, as I do for all other allies and defenders of the Crown."
"Of… of course," the anchor anxiously agreed. "We thank you for your service to the Empire as well. …in other news, today also saw the public trial for Eleven terrorists Saburo Konoe and Jun Kageyama, who took part in the Shinjuku rebellion that resulted in the late Clovis la Britannia's assassination…"
Suzaku slowly tuned out as the anchor went on to discuss a parade through the settlement that would take place the following night and conclude with the public execution of both convicts, setting an example that although Clovis had performed exceptionally vile deeds that were still under active investigation, it remained true that directing weapons at an Imperial scion and Viceroy was not an act that could be ignored or encouraged… although since the evidence used in the trial had included battle camera footage of Konoe tossing his own people into harm's way as an attempt to make the Lancelot vulnerable, even the National Area Council had been swift to denounce the terrorist with uncommon prejudice.
But for an emotionally exhausted pilot and the cognitive castaway inhabiting his skull, all of that was a tertiary concern at best and nearly irrelevant at worst.
"Was Baron Lubie suggesting that I'm… what?" Suzaku asked the empty room.
You'd have a better chance of knowing than I would. It's your world…
"You say that, and you're right… but at the same time," he admitted, "it just makes me realize how little of it I understand myself."
Well… tomorrow, we can do our best impression of every other person that ever made it to the stage of history. By which I mean, we happily start meddling with shit we don't understand. Unless she gives us a red light, Operation Peace Walker is as good as commenced.
In spite of the unrelenting stress and drama he'd been subjected to throughout the last four days, an exasperated grin stole its way onto Suzaku's face. "I still can't believe I let you talk me into accepting that name… but I do admit it's vague enough to not completely throw opsec to the wind."
Would you really have preferred Operation Love Deterrence?
Suzaku didn't bother responding, as they both knew the answer already. His thoughts instead returned, unbidden, to his earlier confrontation with Lelouch.
"But I'm also trying to create a kinder world for Nunnally, one that she can grow up and thrive in. …can we at least agree that the world as it stands right now won't allow for that? We can agree that it's rotten and needs to change, can't we?"
No shit it needs to change, only parasites and the ignorant would think it doesn't.
Suzaku flopped back on his bed to stare up at the ceiling, and this time didn't bother trying to cover or obstruct his Geass as it once again split his vision of the world before him into scenarios of Emperor Lelouch executing people en masse for daring to even criticize him, perpetrating a genocide across the world beyond even what his father had ever accomplished.
"But your change, rapid though it may be, comes at too high a price."
Zero emerged from the absolute hell of human despair yet again, and restored justice to the world by impaling the Demon Emperor on his blade.
Again. And again. And again. Like a kaleidoscope, countless murders split off from each other only to infinitely repeat.
"If… if that's the case, then why don't we work together? Obviously I'm going to make mistakes, but–"
The memory triggered a change in the kaleidoscope of horror as the countless Zero Requiems folded into a scene of a flying Lancelot firing something at the Tokyo settlement, after which it disappeared in a giant pink sphere. This scene, too, began to repeat in the same way.
Often, it was a flying red Knightmare that pressured the Lancelot into taking that shot.
Sometimes, a blue one with a more clearly Asiatic design.
Sometimes even a black Knightmare with a wild black mane and a long Japanese-style blade.
And sometimes... the shot didn't seem to be forced at all.
It wasn't always Tokyo being obliterated, either, or even necessarily somewhere in Japan.
Sometimes it was Pendragon.
Sometimes, Shanghai.
Many more times, other cities with skylines that Suzaku couldn't begin to identify.
Time and again, as the visions of devastation split open and blossomed like petals of a flower, the circumstances changed.
But the carnage never did.
"Because I've seen what happens when I take orders from you," Suzaku snapped, his voice cracking as tears streamed down the side of his head.
"If you want me to stop short of obliterating Britannia at large, we can talk about that! If you want revenge on the Japanese that screwed you over, I'll help you get it! But I refuse to accept you as my enemy!"
The pink flower of destruction finally withered and died as other scenes took its place. Not of violence, for once, but of peace.
Of Black Knights celebrating a world free of war, while Japan supplanted Britannia as the dominant cultural superpower in an age where all memory of the world's evils and grudges had been submerged in the ocean of blood spilt by Emperor Lelouch.
Of Zero being paraded like a mascot before the overjoyed survivors of humanity, their flawless and incorruptible symbol of hope.
"You do so much evil in the name of your justice, Lelouch, and you barely even have to live with it…"
Twisting onto his side, a trembling Suzaku slowly curled himself into the fetal position on his bed as hundreds of reflections of his face in Zero's masks faded – only to reveal his own face beneath them all.
"And for compromising mine to make it possible, I spend the rest of my life as your legacy's slave, a prisoner to that damned mask…!"
For his sins, eternal punishment. For sins against him, a blanket pardon.
As a weeping Suzaku screwed his eyes shut and temporarily fled from his destiny into a void of darkness, the memory of a girl's voice firmly cut through his mind.
"I don't like seeing you hurt."
"You need to learn to stand up for yourself!"
"Suzakkun…"
"Lelouch… what the hell makes you think I should believe in you," Suzaku sobbed, "when your genius masterstroke involves justice and freedom for everyone but me?"
Suzaku's broken question carried into the dark room, and the only response came from vapid evening television advertisements for men's supplements and a local auto parts shop before the TV powered off automatically from inactivity.
Silence reigned for what felt like hours, but might well have been only a few minutes until a knock on the door frame cut through the dark.
"Suzaku, are you in there?"
It's Cecile…
She sounds worried…
Do… do you mind –
Say no more, fam.
"Yeah," I awkwardly replied with a rougher voice than when I last had the wheel. "You can come in if you want."
The dorm room door gently cracks open, probably so she can take her time to assess what she's walking into. "Did something happen? You sound absolutely awful…"
Even if we were brave enough to tell her, how the hell would I do it? Sure, the smartass and dumbass answers are both use words, but it's not like either addresses the problem.
"I… don't know if I could point to anything specific? I guess it's more like… the last few days are kind of hitting me all at once?"
As Cecile opens the door the rest of the way and steps inside, her hand instinctively goes for the light switch before halting just short of flipping it on. After a brief second or two, she leaves the lights off and fully enters, closing the door behind her and joining us in darkness.
The mattress soon sinks a little as Cecile's weight joins ours, and in no time at all a gentle hand finds and rests on our side. "I suppose that makes sense," the bluenette softly admits. "Just last week, you were an infantryman with so much less pressure or expectations placed upon you. I imagine it must feel like your entire world has changed…"
"Spoken like a true coward."
Maybe C.C. had a point, but this isn't the same thing…
"I know I asked for this, and I'm not trying to run away from it, it – it's just that I don't know how–"
A gentle shushing noise cuts me off as Cecile's hand begins to soothingly slide up and down my arm. Honestly, it's a struggle for me to not immediately roll over and cling to her like a damn security blanket.
"You don't need to justify yourself to me," she whispers. "Is there any way I can help?"
Suzaku's burying himself in our psyche to get as close as he can to a waking sleep mode, and even if I had both the courage and the wisdom to effectively explain the bulk of our problems to her… is it really fair to put that much of a burden on her?
And even if she had all the answers, would they even be useful right now?
"Co–"
The world explodes into fractals as a despairing Lelouch strokes Kallen's face somewhere in a ghetto. "Comfort me," his echoing voice asks from a thousand direct directions, overlapping and resonating with itself to the point it's almost deafening. "As a woman, there are certain things that you can do, right?"
LELOUCH, YOU…!
Doubtless feeling me tense up, a worried and concerned Cecile leans over me. "Co…?"
"...if it's not too much trouble," Suzaku awkwardly asks, "would you mind… please, just…"
Cecile waited with bated breath and a pit in her stomach, almost dreading to hear what Suzaku would ask of her.
Although, as memories of pain and shame from almost a decade ago welled up from her subconscious…
"I don't care about the country's pride or some stupid rock, I just wanted to design a floral museum… but my parents and everyone else I thought were my friends have all been pushing me really hard to go fight and earn glory in Japan, enough that if I say no they'll probably disown me. To be honest, it's… it's kind of getting hard to see why I should bother staying alive."
"You'll be alright, I believe in you! The war will be over before you know it, and then nobody will be able to think ill of you! In fact, I'm sure that your floral museum will get a lot more visitors with a genuine war hero running it! Just be strong until then, you'll see!"
In the room's near-total darkness, a smile she never could have recognized as false in her youth lingered as if to taunt the bluenette. He eventually came home from Tsukishima in a tinderbox…
Cecile was reasonably confident that whatever next came out of Suzaku's mouth would either break her heart or infuriate her on his behalf.
"Could you hold me close and tell me it's gonna be alright? Even… even if it means you have to lie to me, I'm okay with that."
…of course it would be both, Cecile swore as she grabbed the prone Suzaku by his arm and dragged him into the tightest embrace she could give.
"It's going to be alright," she whispered, hot tears streaming down Cecile's face as she hugged the ever-loving hell out of him. "I may not know when or how, but I swear I'm here to stay with you. By hook or by crook, life will get better…!"
Crying into her chest, Suzaku soon wrapped his arms around her as well. "I'm… I'm sorry," he awkwardly choked out. "I didn't want to make you cry–"
Rubbing his back with one hand to comfort him, Cecile gave Suzaku a kiss on the head. "Don't apologize; you didn't make me cry, I'm crying with you. It's what people do when they share in each other's pain… it's one way that we make the worst of our burdens easier to carry."
For several minutes, nothing more was said as the trembling pair clung to each other.
"Cecile, I… we've only known each other for a few days. Why are you trying so hard to help me?"
I can only imagine how conditioned he must be to expect the opposite…
"Suzaku… do you mind if I tell you a story?"
After a brief moment, Suzaku shook his head against her, assenting.
"When I was a few years younger than you are now… my parents set up an arranged marriage with the son of a minor noble. I actually liked him a lot once I got to know him, and wasn't really against the idea; Johnny was timid and sensitive, all he wanted was to take the beauty he saw in nature and share it with others – but his parents were disappointed with how docile he was, and I think most of his other friends were just riding on his family name, even if he didn't mind it. …but when the Emperor invaded Japan, there was mass conscription of pilots for the newly-developed Knightmare Frame. He… he confided in me just before shipping out that he'd been depressed for a long time, and that he didn't even know why he was living anymore. I had a chance to try and support him, to help him through it – and in my naivete, I didn't understand how to use it. I let it slip by."
"Then, he…?"
"He died in combat at Tsukishima, but… but for years, I had no idea if he was even really trying to survive. If I'd been more insightful back then, if I'd better understood what to do – for years, I thought it could have made a difference."
Suzaku went stiff as a board at the mention of Tsukishima, and Cecile was just about to ask what was wrong when–
"Tohdoh… was my teacher before the invasion. I learned martial arts and swordsmanship from him."
…and are you trying to assume responsibility for that now?
Cecile took a deep breath to steady herself. "Suzaku, I'm going to ask you some yes or no questions, and I want you to give me straight answers – look… Suzaku, look at me."
After a few seconds, once Cecile was satisfied that Suzaku had met her gaze, she cupped his chin to disincentivize him from looking away. "Did you push the last Japanese administration to break the trade agreement with Britannia?"
"...no."
"Did you convince the Emperor to respond with an armed invasion?"
"...no."
"Did you have any influence over Britannian troop deployments or logistical actions?"
"No…"
"Did Colonel Tohdoh take orders from you in conducting Japanese defense operations?"
"I –"
That he broke the pattern she'd been trying to establish with her previous few questions could only have been a bad sign. "Suzaku?"
Suzaku shook in Cecile's arms, almost needing to vomit his words out before he could lose his nerve.
"If I hadn't killed my f– the Prime Minister, the Japanese Army would have bled itself to death and there wouldn't have been any strength left to mount a resistance in the years since. Everyone that died after that, both Japanese and Britannian… all that death and destruction, it's all because of me!"
"If anyone 'ruined your life', Suzaku, it's you!"
And just like that, things suddenly started making so much more sense.
"...Suzaku," Cecile gently began, "I'm going to tell you something that's… likely going to be profoundly uncomfortable, but I think you need to hear it. No matter how much it hurts, can I trust you to listen? For me?"
The young man in her arms gave her a shaky nod, swallowing like he was trying to choke down an entire lemon.
"Suzaku… it isn't your fault."
The Japanese youth stared at her in shock and… almost horror in the dim light. "How could you say th–"
"You were a child," she insistently pressed. "And you're not so far removed from one now. The Prime Minister… the Emperor… and Colonel Tohdoh, and everyone else in a position to affect what happened back then was a grown adult. Whether any of them live up to it or not, those adults bear the responsibility for their decisions. It isn't your fault."
"No… No! That's–"
"When the late Viceroy performed illegal experiments and then covered them up with the massacre in Shinjuku, those were his decisions. They weren't your fault."
"But–!"
"Whenever a terrorist picks up a gun or puts a bomb in a car with intent to harm someone, that's their decision. It isn't your fault."
Suzaku let out a soft, anguished wail as tried to push Cecile away from him – but not hard enough to achieve any results.
"You're not God. You're not the master of the universe. When people in this world are heartless to each other because of the circumstances they've been forced to live in, that isn't your fault. You're just one man, who's had entirely too much unfairly put on his shoulders and tries to carry all of it anyway. What the government's done, what the rebels have done… what your father, his administration, or their successors have done?"
Cecile gently brushed away the tears in Suzaku's eyes, proud to try and accept his pain as her own. "Those burdens were wrongly forced on you by someone else, Suzaku, and doing that to you was an act of evil. It's okay for you to just throw them away."
The cry that followed was long, ugly, and messy. Her uniform would desperately need to be cleaned before she could use it again.
But if Cecile might have passed the test she failed eight years ago, then no words would be enough to describe her joy.