Kintsugi - Chapter 8: Shift

"With all due respect, my Lord, that is a humongous pile of horseshit and you know it."

Jeremiah Gottwald stared at Kewell Soresi, unamused by the interruption and unimpressed by the younger man's colorful remark. It was true a certain amount of informality was not only allowed, but most times also expected during an unofficial meeting between close allies. However, the fact remained that Jeremiah outranked Soresi in all the ways that mattered, making the younger man's disapproving judgment about his previous words almost akin to insubordination. There was a proper way of things to follow when you wanted to express disaccord with a superior's opinion, and Soresi came dangerously close to spit on it all. The orange-eyed Margrave didn't answer immediately, though a quick glare aimed at Soresi made it clear he expected the Knight to wait quietly, and instead let his gaze wander around the room and the Pureblood Faction.

Or rather, what remained of it: as members of a faction that believed fervently in Britannian ideals and wished to gain political favor with Prince Clovis, Pureblood members naturally sought to gain prestige and renown. They were always the first to enter the field when authorization to deploy Knightmare Frames was given, and they constantly aimed to achieve the highest tallies. There were no worthy foes left among the Eleven rabble, with the possible exception of the infamous Todoh but nothing has been heard about him since the JLF's decline, yet what the Elevens lacked in quality they made up with quantity. It was a manner of low trickery that a part of Jeremiah found mildly distasteful, but it was also something everyone did at one point or another so he thought no more of it.

Their laudable zeal, sadly, also meant the Purebloods made up a large part of the frontlines when the terrorists' reinforcements made their appearance and threw the whole battlefield into disarray. Infantry troops were butchered, tanks destroyed and Knightmares decimated: Jeremiah, to his great shame, was among the firsts to fall. It wasn't until he managed to return to the command base and issue new orders to change tactics that they finally managed to slow down the enemy advance.

What returned his gaze was a small crowd of bruised and disquieted officers. A few of them were standing only through the use of crutches, those who lost a limb or were forced to use a wheelchair for the time being refused to attend altogether. The Margrave could not condemn them for that, they both knew their military careers had come to an end: better for them, then, to preserve what remained of their dignity.

Even now Jeremiah could scarcely believe it. Could scarcely believe that foot soldiers, most of them armed with just melee weapons and crossbows, could be capable of felling Knightmare Frames with deceptive ease. Was this what the Elevens thought when Britannia first deployed KFs during the Conquest of Japan? The strange, bitter feeling of seeing their whole conception of how wars are fought being turned on its head by a new and unknown variable?

The Margrave could have done without the experience of being almost carved in half by a chainsaw-wielding madwoman. There were low quality movies with that premise, their memories did not make him laugh anymore. How it was possible was a question of utmost importance, but one that he was forced to put aside for now due to more pressing concerns. He and Villetta managed at least to ascertain that, for all their speed and power, those people still relied on armor and physical protection to avoid damage to their bodies. They were still flesh and blood, capable of being taken down with a well-placed bullet, and not some manner of imaginary creature created by superstition.

It was a small but still important victory that seemed to be utterly lost on the other Purebloods. Only Villetta was looking in disapproval at Soresi, the others were either disinterested, lost in their own little worlds or clearly agreeing with his words. Jeremiah felt a brief flare of irritation before suppressing it at the reminder that those people had a frontline seat to the enemy's final monster.

Metal and fire manipulation, especially on such a big scale, made for a terrifyingly effective counter against most modern weapons. There was no shame in admitting that, even if it had turned what could have been a costly victory into a frantic fight to survive. Jeremiah was contemplating using a Knightmare-sized sniper rifle with an AP round, hit the target fast and strong when their guard was down, before the ceasefire announcement. Had he known what he would have learned later he would have continued with the plan and shot the monster while their back was turned.

Jeremiah put both hands on the table and slowly stood up, until the teal-haired man was looming over Soresi by virtue of his superior height. A petty tactic, maybe, but a deserved one. "Then explain your reasoning, Knight Soresi. Tell us why we shouldn't investigate the murder of a member of the Royal Family."

He bared his teeth in a vicious sneer. "It better be a very good reason."

"I'm not saying we shouldn't search for the despicable killers of His Highness Clovis. Such a blasphemous thought never crossed my mind!" The brown-haired man hastily defended himself. Jeremiah was pleased to see Soresi had been suitably cowed, though by the stubbornness still present in his eyes not enough to make him stand down. "Margrave, I was merely pointing out that we don't have time to investigate. We must give the citizens a culprit, right now!"

It was now twice that Jeremiah Gottwald let a Royal die during his watch, a fact that opened old wounds never fully healed and poured salt on them. The knowledge he has not been responsible for Clovis' security, that it was the Prince's explicit orders for every able-bodied soldier to contribute to the fight that saw the number of guards in the command center reduced below its bare minimum, did nothing to quell the burning shame and self-loathing in his chest. Did nothing to erase the fact that, while he and everyone else were out there fighting, the enemy was able to infiltrate the command center and assassinate His Highness Clovis.

Bartley, the incompetent buffoon, and his ilk had already been tossed in a cell to await further judgment despite his insistence that he needed to secure high-classified information he was working on for the Prince. Jeremiah didn't bother telling the general it wouldn't have mattered even if the teal-haired man believed him: the assassins hacked and wiped out all important data from the base's computers during their infiltration, so if this information existed and was not just an excuse made by Bartley to save his undeserving hide then it was already in their hands.

There was no doubt, even through the few rushed checks they managed to do before this meeting, that it had been the work of multiple people with experience in this type of operation. That only Clovis had been killed, while the guards and Bartlely had been merely incapacitated before they could get a good look at their assailants, was certainly odd but not outside of the realm of possibility. Beside the gunshot that killed him the Prince's body, save for a few bruises, showed no other injuries: reinforcing the idea the assassins were after specific goals and aimed to achieve them as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Not simple terrorists, but trained black-ops operatives. This had worrying implications, since those kinds of people in service to the old Eleven government were supposed to have been wiped out by His Majesty's OSI during the Conquest, but it narrowed down the list of suspects.

"Culprits we don't currently have." Jeremiah reminded Soresi. "Hence the need for an investigation!"

"Then, let's create one."

The air within the room suddenly turned uncomfortably cold. The source of it was the chilling glare Jeremiah was now directing towards Soresi, making those closer to the two wince and step away. The orange-eyed man welcomed the icy anger now coursing through his body, as it numbed the shame and self-loathing. To his credit Soresi stood his ground in the face of Jeremiah's wrath, yet it made the Margrave start wondering if said stubbornness was more of a flaw than a virtue.

Jeremiah wasn't ignorant or against the use of a scapegoat. It was another form of trickery that nonetheless had its own benefits: sometimes the culprit was caught but it was politically inconvenient for them to be presented as such to the public, so a more acceptable target was offered and the wrongdoer quietly disposed of; other times a whole group was wiped out before it could be determined who among them physically did the act, necessitating the use of someone who could have been part of said group as the culprit. It was a distasteful practice, but the Margrave wasn't above making use of it for the good of Britannia: in the case their investigation into the Prince's murder took too long, putting the Area's stability at risk, Jeremiah could see himself find a scapegoat to feed to the public and then continue the investigation on a low profile until he had the pleasure of personally executing the despicable cur that dared raise a hand against the Royal Family.

However, what Soresi was currently suggesting went even beyond that. "I was not aware you have so little faith in the capacities of your fellow Purebloods, Kewell."

The meaning was clear: to immediately find a scapegoat, without even trying to find the real culprit first, was the equivalent of declaring the Purebloods were unable to catch the Prince's assassins. At once the gazes of everyone else sharpened at the implicit insult, directing smoldering glares at the brown-haired man. Villetta allowed herself a satisfied smile, just a fraction of a second, before switching back to merely disappointed.

Soresi flinched, realizing too late his mishap, before soldiering on. "It is not a lack of trust, the situation is simply too unstable. His Highness stripped all bases close to Tokyo of personnel, and the final tally of casualties is too high for it to pass below notice. Already rumors and digital records are spreading through lesser communication channels, too fast and too many to be contained. Even if we give a cover-up story to the media, nobody will believe it."

The brown-haired man clenched his fists. "What do we even tell the people, that His Highness had been killed by traitors? It may work in the Homeland, but it will do nothing to quell the unrest here in Area Eleven, where the enemy has always been Number Terrorists."

Another thing that irritated Jeremiah, the fact that Soresi and many other people were convinced the terrorists' reinforcements were Britannians solely because several of them followed the same asinine new trend that spread through Area Eleven in the last months. When the Margrave first heard about it he thought it to be a jest, but when the next day Jeremiah saw a group of noble school-girls excitedly comparing the colors of their new cat ears he felt himself aging by a few decades and the urgent need to go to a bar, get drunk and angrily complain about the lack of sense within the heads of the younger generations.

He had nothing against cosmetic surgery, really. But it was one thing to remove that which marred a person's beauty, like a birthmark; another entirely to change the actual shape of the human form! And following an old Eleven craze to boot! Yet no matter how much Jeremiah loathed it, he was painfully aware that any attempt to stop it would be swiftly rejected by nobles worried about the happiness of their precious heirs. Worthless swine who had never run or did an obstacle course in all their lives, if His Lady was here—! And Jeremiah killed that train of thought then and there, re-focusing on the present.

"Animal ears and other inhuman traits are but circumstantial evidence, Soresi. Especially since they can be faked." Jeremiah remembered him. "In fact, it's likely they added them to their appearance just to send us on a wild goose chase. You want to go through the medical records of every surgeon in Area Eleven that offer said service? You'll find the majority of customers are nobility, and the rest citizens wishing to imitate their betters."

"I am perfectly aware, Margrave." The Knight gravely replied. "And yet, who else but fellow Britannians could have fought us so fiercely? It's impossible for Number savages to have developed the technology that made those people able to do what they did, and a hostile nation wouldn't have revealed such a trump card just to cause unrest within Britannia domains."

That, as much as Jeremiah wanted to argue against it, made sense. Of the remaining Eleven terrorist groups, the JLF was in possession of the most advanced technology and yet their highest accomplishment was using a cheap copy of the 4th-generation Glasgow. Of rival nations, the Chineses simply drowned their enemies in bodies, the Europeans loved their long-ranged guns and Australia was not even worth considering. He had heard rumors that the Militarized Zone of India chafed under their masters and supplied arms to whoever could pay, but even then they would surely keep such a weapon for themselves. Moreover, Britannian medical science was the most advanced in the world. It was not perfect, few things in this world were, and the highest levels could only be afforded by the wealthy, but it was a field that made steady progress every year. If there was something that could make human bodies capable of fighting toe to toe with Knightmares, it was that.

Naturally, the thought that fellow Britannians betrayed the Homeland to aid lowly Numbers made Jeremiah's blood boil with indignation. Only for the following thoughts to abruptly cool it down.

If they were Britannians, whose orders did they follow? Who had the resources to develop such breakthrough technology with the rest of the world none the wiser? Who would benefit from having Clovis dead and Area Eleven's military crippled but not broken?

Was the one behind all of this another Royal?

It was a suspicion Jeremiah could never utter out loud, but one he could also never ignore. If this was the scheme of another Prince or Princess conspiring against Clovis, who considered so many Britannian casualties in the Area that produced the majority of the world's Sakuradite an acceptable sacrifice, then the Margrave needed to step carefully from now on.

He couldn't afford to fall. Not now, not before righting an ancient wrong and obtaining the truth of what really happened. Only then was his future, even his life, worth sacrificing.

"So you would use a Number as a scapegoat. Someone the citizens would easily hate, sparing little thought to how this person managed to both kill His Highness Clovis and cause such heavy losses." Jeremiah mused aloud, his tone emotionless. He was showing neither support nor opposition, merely stating the facts. Villetta shot him an interrogative look before quickly schooling her features to pay attention. He would talk to her later, explaining his reasons. "You realize not any Number would do, I hope?"

"Yes, of course. Too low in the hierarchy and we'll paint ourselves as incompetent. Too high and people will ask why they never heard of them before." Soresi scoffed before smiling for the first time since the meeting began. Gesturing to a nearby folder he silently asked for permission, and Jeremiah wordlessly gave it. The brown-haired man picked up the folder and opened it, retrieving a couple of papers stapled together he handed to Jeremiah.

The orange-eyed man took the papers and read them. Once to absorb the information, and one more to make sure he read correctly.

"Heads must fall for this."

It was said not as an opinion, but as a statement of fact.

"I concur." Soresi nodded. "Another proof that the honorary citizenship system is flawed and must be done away with."

"While I am not disagreeing with you, I was referring-" Jeremiah let the papers fall to the table like they were trash. "-to the fact we found out only now that among our Number soldiers is the son of Area Eleven's last head of state! What were the army recruiters doing?!"

Suzaku Kururugi. Son of Genbu Kururugi, the last Prime Minister of Japan before it became Area Eleven. Jeremiah wasn't an expert on the history of this island, beside what he deemed necessary to know, but he was at least aware that before the Conquest all executive power had gathered in the hands of the prime minister and his cabinet, leaving the local imperial family with just a ceremonial role. A system partially inspired by the European Union, as the two countries shared a long history of contacts.

"It seems that, at least in regard to Honorary Britannians, background checks are limited to a control of possible past felonies. Familiar ties are deemed unimportant." The Knight explained with a frown. "I already had those recruiters demoted, this shouldn't have happened even if it was just a mere Number."

"It shouldn't have happened, especially because it's about a Number. People, I must remind you, with many reasons to hate us Britannians." This Suzaku was as close to a legitimate heir to the old government as he could be, at least for people desperate for any kind of hope. Forget about making him a soldier, even one intended to be disposable, the logical thing would have been to imprison or just execute him. It also, Jeremiah reflected, made the boy completely unqualified to be an infiltrator. There was absolutely no way someone with a minimum of common sense would think this was a good idea, the mere fact they took so long to find out about the boy's parentage was a stroke of pure luck, so why? Was this some kind of asinine Eleven tradition, or was he missing something? Normally nothing more than idle curiosity, yet Jeremiah was feeling particularly paranoid recently.

The teal-haired man rolled his jaw, thinking furiously. Son of a previous leader, seeking revenge. Used his position in the army to pass info to his comrades and prepare a cowardly trap for brave Britannians. Heavy casualties were due to the terrorists choosing martyrdom and blowing themselves up, something Elevens were fond of, thus also explaining the low amount of enemy bodies. It could work.

But. Was them choosing a scapegoat a move the supposed hidden Royal planned for, or something that interfered with their plan?

Should Jeremiah take the risk? Despite the fact that, with the current lack of information, any kind of decision would be equally risky?

The orange-eyed man moved a cold gaze between Soresi and the papers, seemingly pondering the proposal. In reality he was taking a good look at himself, casting away all excuses and exposing only the truth. It was the only way for him to choose a path at the current crossroad and accept the consequences.

In the end, he found out, nothing has truly changed.

For His Lady, Jeremiah Gottwald was ready to sacrifice anything.

"We'll go with your proposal Soresi, but on one condition."


"By the authority vested in me I, Jeremiah Gottwald, confirm those reports: we have arrested the man who we suspect is the murderer of His Highness!" The Margrave boomed, his voice amplified by the room's speakers and washing over the reporters. "We, the Purebloods, have in our custody the person accused of having taken the life of Clovis La Britannia, Viceroy of Area Eleven and Third Prince of the Holy Britannian Empire!"

As per the script, the moment Jeremiah paused he was bombarded by questions. Good thing he was too far away for them to shove their microphones in his face, with his current mood he would have broken their faces in response. "Order! Order! One at a time!" He barked after a few seconds, making the reporters quiet down, then gestured to the one he knew would make the required question.

"How did the suspect come into your hands?"

"An excellent question. I will leave the floor to the one who made this accomplishment possible: Sir Kewell of House Soresi, Knight of Britannia!" Jeremiah dramatically announced before stepping down from the podium. He and Soresi met in the middle of the stairs, the younger man bowing respectfully before taking the Margrave's former spot.

Jeremiah, his part done, tuned out the rest of the conference as he stood with the other Purebloods, right next to Villetta. The brown-skinned woman gave him a nod before seemingly focusing back on Kewell feeding a grand tale of decisive actions and intense investigations to the reporters, adding now and then a mention of gut feelings to make it sound more heroic. All tasteless drivel of course, which he was sure Villetta was likewise ignoring.

One ignorant of the truth could interpret Jeremiah letting Soresi claim the honor of having captured the Third Prince's murderer as the Margrave honestly recognizing the other man's accomplishments. Or they could think Jeremiah had lost his edge and Soresi was the new rising star of the Pureblood Faction.

Only one person knew Jeremiah was using Soresi and his reckless idea as sacrificial lambs to test the waters. If it worked, then the Purebloods would gain influence and push part of their agenda before a new Viceroy would be chosen.

If it didn't, then the brown-haired Knight would bear the brunt of the blame in order for the rest of the Purebloods to better endure the fallout. As long as Jeremiah remained a Margrave there were other means for him to grant Villetta an hereditary noble title, and that was enough to ensure her loyalty to him. It helped that she personally disliked Soresi.

He had no right to interfere in a feud between members of the Royal Family.

But no matter the cost, Jeremiah Gottwald would survive it.

His duty demanded nothing less.

====

After half an hour of experiments, Kallen was now certain of how fast she could move without the tubes getting stretched in dangerous ways. It was, much to her annoyance, less than what she was effectively capable of, but thankfully not by too large a margin. Her legs were free of tubes, so she could still run and kick as much as she wanted. The redhead's ability to pilot a Knightmare Frame should remain unaffected; at most she would need to put an extra layer of padding between her back and the seat, no big deal.

She threw a last jab at an invisible target, maintaining the pose and stretched limb for a few seconds before relaxing her body. One hand rose up behind her back and, with delicate touches, moved up the shirt-covered tube until it reached the mechanical port at the base of her neck.

This, was more of a big deal. The redhead's fingers traced the outline of her body's new metallic addition, the flesh around it still tender but not inflamed. The tubes she could ignore as long as she didn't look at them or move too fast, but the port has been a quiet presence in the back of her mind since she woke up, like a weight on her shoulders that shifted and pulled with every motion but never quite enough to fall off. Not to the point of being outright disturbing, it was more like the redhead's body was still on the fence about how it felt regarding the modification. The apparatus' constant coolness, on the other hand, had been a welcome change after feeling like she was on fire for so many hours and the knowledge there were more tubes running around her internal organs was just a theoretical one that in practice changed nothing.

Taken by a mysterious organization and subjected to an experimental medical procedure to save her life and give her—or rather, to stabilize her extremely volatile superpowers. Where was her new awesome armor and cool transformation sequence? Kallen felt scammed.

Huffing mostly in amusement, a small part in nostalgia, Kallen sat on the bed and grabbed one of the remaining plates full of sandwiches, which she tore into with great enthusiasm. Both the bread and the ingredients were stale, as if they remained inside a fridge for a long time, but not enough to make them inedible. She was also hungry enough to care little for it, the last twelve or so hours had been a rollercoaster of events and frantic changes that left her drained of energies. Sleeping helped, but now she needed good old carbohydrates in her stomach.

Someone knocked on the door. Kallen stopped, teeth ready to bite into a sandwich, and rolled her eyes. "If it's you, Gavial, I want to break your face less than I want Doctor Kal'tsit on my case again. So, unless you have a medical-related reason to be here, scram."

Seriously, that cat-eared woman had one hell of a glare. Kallen was not someone who got intimidated easily, but it didn't mean it was impossible. The redhead still wanted to repay Gavial for her oh-so-wonderful 'gift', but now that she could think clearly she was perfectly fine waiting to be given a clean bill of health. Well, a relatively clean bill of health: she was still slowly turning into a wonder-material that lets you do pseudo-magic and likes to eat people, but at least it was far in the future.

"I don't have a medical-related reason, no." A male voice she recognized instantly replied. "But I also am not Gavial, so I hope you will make an exception just this once Q1."

"Oh, you." The redhead went back to her food, chewing with a bit more force. "Come on in, you prick. And stop calling me Q1, already!"

"As you wish, Kallen." The door slid open and Lelouch Lamperouge walked in, now wearing casual clothes similar to the ones she gave her back in the clubhouse instead of the Ashford Academy's school uniform or a Rhodes Island's medical suit. He also stopped looking like a victim of tropical fever and has regained some color in his skin.

He gave a look around, taking in the hospital room reserved for Kallen's personal use since they wanted to make extra sure she would not suddenly start blasting someone with Sakuradite radiation. It didn't feel like a prison and the wallpapers had bright colors on them, so it was still a marked improvement compared to before. The only things missing were a window to the outside and a punching bag, but the former was a practical impossibility and the latter another thing patients weren't supposed to use. "How are you feeling?"

"Apart from hunger and the pain in my jaw? Just peachy." She replied flippantly. "Told you I would survive."

"You certainly are doing an admirable job building a reputation for surpassing such trivial doubts." Kallen was almost tempted to throw an empty plate at the raven-haired boy's smug grin. His gaze stopped on a chair. "May I?"

"I'd say it's a free country, but I'd be lying."

"Unfortunately." Pulling the chair closer to the bed Lelouch sat down on it, directly in front of Kallen. He didn't say anything at first, content to let Kallen finish her current sandwich and swallow the last morsel. "I was told that, if things remain as stable as they are, you'll soon be able to leave and return home. You'll, of course, need to come back for regular check-ups but we're working on ways to make the path between the base and the surface easier to travel."

The redhead grunted, cleaning her mouth with a napkin before crumbling it with one hand and tossing it into the room's trash can without even looking. It was more or less what she already expected, at least now she had a real excuse to skip school. Kind of a bummer she could not use the free time to hang out even more with Ohgi and the others or train in the simulator, but beyond the boring medical tests Rhodes Island already proved itself a place full of new and interesting stuff; she still had a score to settle with both Blaze and Gavial, that was reason enough to return.

Kallen wordlessly gestured to Lelouch to continue, then opened a water bottle to drink from it.

"Warfarin and Folinic, more the latter really, from now on recommend dressing in a way that fully covers your back and arms without being too tight. Summer has yet to end, so if necessary they can see about procuring clothes that keep the body cool even with high temperatures." Normally Kallen would say she didn't care one whit about people staring unless it's for perverted reasons, but she understood it was less about that and more about keeping the apparatus safe and clean. She could pass it off as a new, cutting-edge procedure made necessary by the worsening of her health, but it would work only on her classmates. Among those that knew the truth... Yeah, modifying her wardrobe was a much more preferable prospect than dealing with a massive headache. "They're also preparing the necessary documents to justify your sudden disappearance, and Folinic is willing to testify to your family-"

"No need for that." The redhead interrupted him, once more reaching for a sandwich. "My father's wife is the only one that bitch about it, and nobody pays attention to her. I'll just go back, ignore her screeching and wait until she gets distracted by something else. One, two days maximum."

Lelouch stopped talking, he was hiding it well but he had been clearly taken by surprise by her words. Kallen realized without being told that it didn't paint a very healthy picture of her family's life, but to the redhead her family stopped existing the moment Naoto died: all she had now was a farce. "...And your father?"

"Back in Britannia and constantly finding new reasons to remain there." Not that he was much present in her life even before the war, the man may as well be a stranger to Kallen. And she was perfectly fine with that.

Honestly, this was her last favorite topic to talk about even at the best of times and this was anything but. Especially now that it would be better, not strictly necessary but better, to get really angry only when there was a de-stressing method nearby and available. Doctor's orders and all that. Kallen took a bite and chewed slowly while eying the raven-haired boy, realizing this was a good chance to get an answer to something that had been bugging her for a while. "Hey. Are you Half-Britannian too?"

"What an awfully private thing to ask out of the blue to someone you have only known for a little more than a day." The prick raised an eyebrow, but aside from that he didn't look remotely put-off from a question that, in Britannian society, was the equivalent of a racial slur. "Much as I wish otherwise, I am a full Britannian. Some of my ancestors from my mother's side came from France, but it had been so long ago that it would be considered only mildly awkward even if I cared about it. Which I don't."

Didn't Britannians get kicked out of their ancestral land by a French general? Kallen thought they would hold more of a grudge against said country. And that guy really should have finished the job instead of leaving it half-done. "Then, why are you working with people willing to fight the Britannian army? One doesn't do that unless they're willing to commit all the way."

Kallen had an inkling as to why, but she wanted a clear answer. Well, as clear as someone who seemingly perfected the art of pissing her off was capable of giving.

The faint amusement on Lelouch's expression bled away, leaving his face as expressive as a stone mask. But his eyes narrowed slightly, and within those orbs Kallen could glimpse emotions she could identify easily. After all, she felt many of them on the occasions people asked her about Naoto. Suddenly she wasn't so sure anymore of what she just did, and if Lelouch just stood up and left the redhead could hardly fault him.

"You have met with my sister." The amethyst-eyed young man finally said after a painfully long and awkward pause. His voice was tightly controlled, removed of anything resembling emotions. Probably to avoid spitting venom. "The same event that crippled her legs and traumatized her to the point she lost the use of her eyes also killed our mother. I was the first to find them."

Kallen winced, instantly regretting her words. "Shit. I'm sorry, I… I shouldn't have asked."

"A Britannian fighting against his home country is suspicious. I understand." He lightly shook his head. "The rest of our family washed their hands of us, for we were mere powerless children, and we ended up in Japan. A year later war broke out: after narrowly surviving for months, we were rescued by some of our mother's old friends."

Lelouch's hands clenched into fists. "You want to know why I fight Britannia, Kallen? One part is vengeance, I won't deny it. I wish to find the people who hurt those I love and make them pay for what they did… But."

He held up a finger, the simple gesture loaded with utter fury. "I also fight because I cannot abide the existence of a country, of a culture that would have me cast Nunnally away just because she's weak. If that is the philosophy they choose, the world they decide we must live in… then there is no chance on this planet that I can suffer them to live."

He was not faking it. There was no way he was faking it. Having met Nunnally, and having seen Lelouch's entire persona transform when interacting with her, Kallen could understand why someone would fight the giant that was Britannia for her sake.

A world that sought to trample such a sweet girl? It deserved only to burn.

There was a hint of red peeking through the long sleeves of her shirt, together with a warm sensation on the back of her neck, causing Kallen to snap out of her growing anger and take a slow, deliberately calming breath. Righteous anger, certainly, but still something inopportune at the moment. Lelouch's face remained stony, but she saw his eyes flicker to her sleeves for a moment. The both of them wordlessly decided to pretend it never happened. "I heard something interesting from the passing Operators."

"I assume they have much to talk about." Kallen's nonchalant declaration was met with an equally nonchalant observation from Lelouch, who quickly and seamlessly shifted his behavior: now he looked like a customer in a bar trying to quietly enjoy his drink while only pretending to listen to a friend gushing about the latest singer.

This guy was definitely a full Britannian. The only consolation was that his infuriating behavior was also going to be directed at people deserving it. "They said Rhodes forced Clovis to issue the ceasefire and then killed him."

"I pulled the trigger myself."

That startled her. Blue eyes blinked owlishly at the calm and composed highschool student. "You?"

"He admitted he felt absolutely no remorse about all the lives lost in Shinjuku." Kallen expected him to shrug in a mocking manner, yet beside his lips his body remained perfectly still. From his tone, he was merely stating a fact. "So he died for his crimes."

Then why wasn't he jumping in joy and bragging about it to hell and back? That was what Kallen would have done. Putting aside the question about why they let Lelouch of all people do the deed—a matter of circumstances, perhaps?—maybe it was his first kill and he got squeamish? She… unfortunately could relate. "I was under the impression the Royal Family was sacred in Britannian culture."

"If you look at the history books, Kallen, you'll realize it is merely a polite fiction." The amethyst-eyed youth replied, and it was kind of true. Yet there was something in the way he said that, as if he was amused by a joke known only to him. Kallen's eyes narrowed: was he implying she was ignorant of Britannian history, or history in general? Well she was, because it was a bunch of disgusting lies, but that was beside the point. Did he truly have the gall to make a quip about her grades? Asshole.

The redhead crossed her arms and glared at him. "Alright, congratulations. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that bastard bit the dust. But what happens now?"

"Now we rescue the scapegoat the army has chosen." Lelouch's grin brought to mind a hungry shark that just smelled blood in the water. He was looking forward to it, and honestly so was Kallen. She was not even surprised Britannia chose a scapegoat to cover their failure, just that it happened so soon. She had been asleep for hours, not days. Right? "There's not much time to prepare, but luckily Rhodes Island is full of talents that can fill all the required roles."

"I take it, by that 'we', you're going to personally participate in the rescue?" Kallen asked while pointing a finger, and was rewarded by the smugness in the boy's face reaching epic proportions. She wondered what he would look like with two black eyes. "Then spit it out already. What are you going to do?"

"I believe you will enjoy it a lot more if it was a surprise. After all, it's going to be witnessed live by the whole nation, and I don't mean just Japan." He raised a hand in a placating manner when he saw Kallen's eyebrow twitching. "Trust me. What we're going to do, will humiliate Britannia in a way no one managed before."

====

The electric shock collar was less a real tradition, and more of a legacy from the time slavery was still practiced in the Homeland that nobody had yet thought to formally remove. A collar and attached chain to denote ownership, and a muzzle for those who had yet to learn their places. With the advent of the modern era, where the presence of workers capable only of mindless physical labor was just not needed anymore, it had evolved into the far superior Number System; its chains were more metaphysical, but no less effective. And so, nowadays, the use of physical restraints was reserved solely for the other group of people who lost their rights: criminals and convicts.

If it was just up to him, Jeremiah thought as a bound Suzaku Kururugi was forcefully hauled on the trailer, he would have been indifferent to the collar's use or lack thereof. What did he care if dogs barked? That was just what animals do, no sense in getting bothered by background noise. But the Margrave also acknowledged it served some valid purposes: like increasing the prisoner's powerlessness, and in doing so reinforcing his jailers' presence, or preventing him from saying something that could earn him sympathy from weak-willed fools.

The latter, at least, was not really a concern with the current crowd: by how loudly they shouted and jeered in the Eleven's direction, refraining from hurling objects only because there was a risk of hitting the two guards on his sides, one would think they worshiped the ground where Clovis walked. Maybe some of them did, the Prince possessed his own form of charisma and there was never any shortage of deviants, the rest were just patriots engaging in a timeless human tradition: if someone next to you was standing out, you tried to do the same but even harder.

Was Jeremiah thinking about inane things to avoid looking like he expected an assassin jumping out of the shadows to slit his throat any time now? Yes, yes he was. Because that was exactly how he felt: it was like being back in the jungles of South Britannia hunting for insurgents, trudging through an infernal forest under a combination of oppressive heat and humidity that makes a man wish to put a bullet through his head to escape it, their maps bloody useless because plants grew faster than you could cut them and every painstakingly-carved path in the wilderness was already gone by the next day. Meanwhile, back at the base your commanding officers were locked in a shouting match with their colleagues in the Homeland, trying to explain to that no, Knightmares were wonderful machines capable of dominating many battlefields but a tropical jungle wasn't one of them because trees had mass, using Frames as battering rams ruined them and clearing a path large enough to make them pass would require too much time and be loud enough to warn everyone in a few miles radius.

Jeremiah's barehanded and knife-fighting skills grew by leaps and bounds during that time, and while that was a good thing he was not yet sure the price had been worth it. There was a real chance they would be worthless in the current situation anyway, if Shinjuku's enemies were going to attack the procession stealth and blades in the dark weren't going to be their only options. Still, he was relatively confident it would not involve indiscriminate killing or destruction: they assisted the Elevens in evacuating the ghetto and forced the Prince to call a ceasefire, even if it was just an act there was little reason to drop it so soon.

Or maybe nothing would happen because no one of real importance cared about a single Eleven. The choice was out of Jeremiah's hands, so he inhaled deeply through his nostrils and climbed up his Knightmare Frame. Sitting on the driver's seat he spent a few moments to make sure everything was up to his specifications, then pressed a button to close the cockpit.

"We pledge to the spirits of founding fathers. And the Glory of the realm our mother. That we shall be the shields which defend our homeland. And the halberds which smite those who would harm us."

The Sutherland's start-up interface played on, a digital Britannian flag waving on the screens before being replaced by the outside world in front of him and a couple angles of the machine's back. "Gottwald here, I'm all set."

A new window opened on the right screen, showing Villetta's face. "Nu here, I'm mission ready."

"Soresi here." Kewell, on the left screen, had at least the good grace of taking this seriously. "I'm on point."

Upon receiving confirmation from the fourth escort member they set off, their Sutherlands placed in a box formation as the motorized trailer left the Viceroy's Palace entrance and took the main highway. Civilians were crowded on both sides of the road, forming ordered lines between the other Pureblood Knightmares standing to attention at regular intervals. Many of them were armed with just a standard assault rifle, but Jeremiah insisted on including shoulder-mounted missile launchers, arm-mounted bazookas, ballistic shields and, of course, anti-Knightmare sniper rifles. 'To impress the public', was the official reason. That they let Jeremiah shoot a devastating explosive round at the first hint of a chainsaw was just a nice bonus.

Everything was proceeding according to plan, but it utterly failed to make Jeremiah relax. His eyes jumped between video feeds, searching for anything out of the ordinary.

"Lord Soresi, we have a vehicle approaching from the Third Avenue."

The Margrave's hand immediately went up to tap his earpiece, excluding all audio channels outside of the Pureblood Faction's private one. The plan, he reminded himself, was to officially forbid the transit of all unauthorized vehicles but to do nothing in case one attempted to approach the procession's path; all to better identify possible terrorists.

"Just one? They are either confident or utter fools." Kewell snorted. "Is it armored? Or just a piece of junk flying Eleven banners?"

"No, sir. It's… It's Prince Clovis' personal car."

Jeremiah's shock at the news was, he believed, shared by all of his fellow Purebloods. "What?"

"Impossible. That car has remained within the Palace's garage since before Shinjuku, and it was still there when we left." Villetta pointed out. "It must be a fake, if it's meant to be temporary then disguising a vehicle of comparable size would be easy."

The impudence. High Highness has been dead for only a couple of days, yet here was someone driving around a facsimile of his personal car in clear mockery of such tragedy. This was a blatant slap in Britannia's face, and clearly planned to be one.

"So we have a joker. Let them pass, I want to know what they hoped to accomplish before executing them for this insult." Kewell ordered.

"I'm shutting down the broadcast." Jeremiah spoke for the first time. If the current situation ended badly they could still try to spin things in their favor, with the civilian witnesses being persuaded to collaborate, but it would be impossible if everyone in Area Eleven and the Homeland witnessed the events unfold in real time. "The situation is already delicate as it is, I don't want any surprises."

"True. Go on Margrave, I'll deal with the terrorists myself."

While Soresi commanded all forces to a halt Jeremiah quickly switched frequencies to contact Hi-TV Studio's representative for this job. "Diethard, this is Gottwald. Shut down all feeds to the procession."

"So suddenly? Still, as you wish, Sir." The man was understandably surprised by the request, but accepted it nonetheless. "Will a technical malfunction work as an excuse?"

"Yes. It may be temporary, be ready to resume at a moment's notice."

"Like usual then." Diethard replied with a slightly bored tone. How lucky of him to be able to afford that luxury. The orange-eyed man heard him give orders in the background. "It's done."

Jeremiah directed his Frame's Factspheres to the electronic billboards of a nearby building to confirm it–and swore under his breath when he saw the broadcast still being played on them. No matter where he looked, in every visible giant screen he saw the stopped procession instead of just snow like it was supposed to be. "Diethard! Did I say to wait? Stop the feed! Now!"

"We did! My Lord, I swear we turned off all of our cameras!" The journalist sounded as surprised as Jeremiah, but that would not stop the Margrave from wringing his neck if he did not immediately do as commanded. "George, Austin! Cut off the power, do an emergency shutdown. Hell, I authorize you to take a bat and vandalize our equipment if that does the trick. Yes I can see the screens are showing nothing but snow, but that's just our own!"

There was a pause, and then Diethard's next words made Jeremiah go stock-still.

"What do you mean someone hacked into our systems?!"

====

"One drone here, one there… Scene, that angle looks lonely, let's put a drone there too." Closure gleefully commented as she directed several quadcopter drones, modified for long-range recording, to hover around the raised highway with one hand. The other was typing on a different keyboard, sending instructions to multiple people to ensure everything went according to plan. "I never met a media company with decent cyber-security, glad to see it didn't change even in a new world."

She directed a curious glance at her co-pilot, who was handling the other half of the workload. "Just so we're clear, are you really sure about this? After all, a spotlight like that, all eyes of the world on it? Seems like it'd be a perfect fit for you, no?"

"It's a bit late to ask something like that. In another life, with another me, perhaps… but in this one, with these decisions and these allies on hand?" Lelouch allowed himself a smirk as he leaned back in his seat. "I believe this to be the more telling blow by far. Nevertheless, Miss Closure… in light of my immense sacrifice, might I be permitted the honor of parting the curtain on this hour?"

The Sarkaz laughed: potentially insane or not, she liked the newbie. And hey, what member of Rhodes Island didn't have some amount of craziness within them? It just meant he fit right in. "But of course, my compatriot, of course! I wouldn't have it any other way!"

"What's the word I'm looking for again…" C.C., sitting lazily behind them, kept shoving popcorn into her mouth. She would have preferred pizza of course, with a lot of cheese on it, but this was the best she could acquire on short notice. "Oh, right. Theater kids."

Lelouch resisted the urge to groan. He had no idea why the green-haired woman insisted on being present despite the fact she played no part whatsoever. Unless it was just to annoy him, in which case she was succeeding. "Quiet, you."
"Get me some actual pizza first, boy, and maybe I won't talk."

"You—!"

"No, wait. Seriously, both of you shut up we're almost on!" Several of the wall screens synchronized at Closure's command, showing a tiled display of the fake personal transport stopping in front of the procession. "Lelouch, get ready. We're live in five, four, three, two… now!"

The amethyst-eyed youth smirked grandiosely as he flipped the designated switch. "Here's to a brave new world!"

====

Jeremiah watched with bated breath, and finger resting on the trigger with the lightest of touches, as the upper cover of the vehicle burned away through the use of some kind of pyrotechnical substance. Several floodlights that should not have been present light up around the road, to reveal… a girl.

Less than five feet tall, with what were either hare or donkey ears standing up from the top of her head. Brown hair that reached her chin save for a couple of bangs on either side of her face and a low ponytail, with green eyes that stared resolutely at the convoy and the many Knightmare Frames surrounding her without an ounce of fear. She wore a black foulard around her neck, a white sweater and a checkered miniskirt with black pantyhose; over the sweater, a hooded jacket too big for her size that was made either for a colder climate or to ensure total covering of naked skin for professional purposes. Around her neck, right ankle and fingers were light-green rings with a triangular tessellation pattern.

Of all things, a god-damned teenager with a questionable fashion sense.

"Good evening everyone." She introduced herself with a polite tone, a minute nod of her head as if she was meeting old friends after a week or little more of absence. The civilians were whispering among themselves, wondering about what was going on and its meaning. "I am Amiya, no last name. I am the leader and top executive of the Humanitarian Relief and Resistance Movement, Rhodes Island."

Resistance he could understand, even if she didn't look like the part, but Humanitarian Relief? As in, an organization that offers aid to the victims of natural disasters?

"We are opponents of the Holy Britannian Empire and its ideology…" The girl's gaze turned to the Knightmares arrayed before her, and her eyes stared straight into Gottwald's. "And the ones responsible for the assassination of Viceroy Clovis la Britannia."

The crowd erupted into gasps at the bold declaration. Not out of fear, since what there was to fear by a single girl surrounded by armed soldiers, but out of confusion: they already had a culprit in the form of Suzaku Kururugi, yet now there was another claiming responsibility for the same crime?

"To those present, and everyone else listening to this, I would like you to lend me your ears for a moment." The one who called herself Amiya, not an Eleven name as far as the Margrave could tell but the girl clearly wasn't one, continued as if she didn't just admit guilt for one of Britannia's worst crimes. "I also request that nobody try to stop me, lest I defend myself."

Jeremiah's mind flashed back to his last Knightmare getting turned into scrap metal. Physical appearance and lack of weapons meant nothing, if she was standing there making those claims she was either mad or knew she could back them up. And after what he'd lived through, the teal-haired man had a nasty suspicion he knew which was more likely. "Everyone, remember Shinjuku. Things are not as they appear. Do not do anything rash, even if it means playing along with what this person wants."

"Agreed, Lord Gottwald. This is clearly a trap." Villetta saw reason, as he knew she would.

While Kewell–

"You dare mock His Highness' transport, claim to be an enemy of Britannia, profess to be a murderer of your betters… and think you can get away scot-free from all that?!" The knight bellowed in fury, raising his Frame's gun and pointing it straight at the girl.

Was every bit the glory-chasing moron Jeremiah feared he would be!

Amiya's only response was to sighed in disappointment, before raising one of her hands with an outright dismissive flick.

There was almost no delay before three different projectiles, shooting out from three different angles, hit Soresi's Knightmare at the same time.

The first was a harpoon-sized arrow lodging itself through the machine's head, effectively blinding—if not outright decapitating—the warmachine in a single strike.

The second projectile, seemingly a high-caliber sniper round of ungodly potency, ripped through the Knightmare's left arm, tearing open an almost clean hole in the limb; its manipulator was left only barely hanging onto the machine by a scant few surviving cables.

Finally, the third round was an explosive shell, artillery most likely, that detonated against the Knightmare's right side with enough devastating force to effectively cripple its balance and drive the Frame to its knees.

In the immediate aftermath of the assault, all Gottwald's Factspheres could determine was the projectiles' most probable firing paths, and all three of them lead to the tops of distant skyscrapers. Snipers, and going by Soresi disbelieving screams, good enough to purposely avoid killing the idiot. Jeremiah had prepared contingencies for this exact situation, especially after Shinjuku, but nothing that would be effective at ranges such as this.

"All forces, attack!" Kewell bellowed.

"Belay that order!" The orange-eyed man immediately countered. The modifications he requested to his Frame finally paid dividends when, with the pressing of a button, all communications from Soresi's Knightmare were cut off and the machine itself forced to power down, locking Kewell inside the cockpit before he could get himself reduced to a red smear on global television.

That was the last thing they needed, much as it would help Jeremiah's blood pressure at the moment. "I'm taking back command of this operation. Do not move without my express orders, or I'll court-martial you myself!"

====

"Great work girls, that was an excellent shot! You can relax a little, I think the guy who just took charge is much more cautious, buuut don't lower your guard yet."

"Compared to shadows, that was an easy target. Those machines are tall, but brittle." Typhon replied calmly, her emotions as clear as untainted ice.

"This city has so many lights, it's basically like daylight to me. I still have plenty of bolts left, no one is going to try any funny business as long as I'm here." Meanwhile, Ray's tone was one of intense focus, making it clear the thought of lowering her guard never crossed her mind.

"That was my first time aiming at such a far away target… I'm glad it went well!" In contrast Jessica sounded obviously relieved, and even a little amazed.

"Good, good. Just remember your escape routes, we need to skedaddle once it's time." Closure nodded, then addressed the fourth member of the Sniper Team. "Are you sure you're okay with just observing, Platinium?"

"Positive. My usual targets had much denser armor, I don't have the right arrows for those Knightmares. At least, not for non-lethal takedowns." The silver-haired Kuranta smoothly answered. "For now I'll just observe my coworkers, pick up some tips, and then refine my options."

"Alright, if you say so. Maintain overwatch, command out." The Sarkaz ended the call and went back to watch the wall screens. "So, what exactly is the logic behind your decision Lelouch? I'm curious."

"My father's–" Closure recognized hatred when she heard it, and the amount Lelouch managed to squeeze into a single word was enough to drown in. Knowing what she discovered about fucking Charles, it was completely deserved. "entire empire, his philosophy, is built on the premise that 'might makes right'. That power and prestige give one the right to dictate terms to others without compromises. His is a world of cold, hard imperialism, where compassion, empathy and kindness die starving and alone. Now, if I'd stood before the world and clashed swords with his ideals, met strength with strength, then I would be on equal footing, true enough…"

Observing him from the corner of her eyes Closure saw his expression turn contemplative. "But Amiya is different. She espouses mercy, generosity, humanity. Soft, but strong. Gentle, but determined. She, as a person, is the living, breathing antithesis to everything that Charles zi Brittania espouses and believes in. To have a dark and mysterious revolutionary attack the world order, that would make a statement…"

"...But to have this sweet, innocent Cautus stand in front of the world and tell off the Britannian Empire, declaring war on them and their way of life?" The Sarkaz finished for him with a laugh. "That's not just a statement, that's a slap in the face! A direct attack on everything that Britannia and the Emperor stands for!"

"I picture it as something a bit more visceral than a slap, but then, I'm bitter."

"And dramatic!"

Lelouch mentally counted to ten before answering. "If you shut up now and don't open your mouth for the next twenty-four hours, I'll get you not one pizza, but five."

The green-haired witch lit up like her birthday came earlier. "Deluxe Meatlovers, all the fixings!"

"Shut it! ...Anyways." He grumbled as he straightened his collar. "At this point, it all comes down to one thing: whether Amiya can actually deliver, and make the world listen."

Closure chuckled. "Come on now, you don't think Amiya is our leader just because we think she's so cute, eh Lelouch?"

"Her cuteness has nothing to do with it." The amethyst-eyed boy scoffed. It didn't escape Closure's notice that he didn't deny Amiya was cute. She knew it, Victorian romance novels were fountains of wisdom! "It's just… Even if I reject it now, I was born and raised in that world of cold, hard imperialism. Even if I believe, there will always be some doubts without first obtaining validation. And if I was in Amiya's place now, I would doubt myself too."

Well, she couldn't say she didn't understand his stance. After all, she had been in a similar situation once. But that's why they say 'seeing is believing'. "Then watch and learn… see how one girl can change the world!"

====

"Please don't panic!" Amiya raised her hands, making her voice sound both soothing and commanding. This was not the first time she had to calm a panicking crowd, and while the first few times had been nerve-wracking she had gradually become better at it. Like a wave the effects of her words swept over the assembled civilians, allowing them to regain their bearings and aborting what could have turned into a riot. The hush that followed was near absolute, every set of eyes staring at the young Cautus. The Knightmares standing on attention were frozen in the middle of raising their weapons, barrels very pointedly not aimed in the girl's direction.

"Neither I, nor Rhodes Island, have come here today to harm anyone." She continued. This was different from addressing refugees from a Catastrophe or a bloodthirsty crowd blaming Infected for all of their misfortunes, those people were more confused than afraid. It made things both easier and harder. "I only ask to speak without being interrupted. Once I have said my piece, we will depart without further violence."

A few of the Knightmares turned towards one of their own, standing on the right of the Frame crippled by Rhodes' Operators. The machine's expressionless face stared at her, and Amiya could only wonder what went through the pilot's mind - using her powers with so many people around was a bad idea - before they spoke with a very guarded tone. "Do you swear it?"

"Yes." She nodded without a moment of hesitation. "I swear it."

"Then, we are listening."

Right. This was it. Amiya took a deep breath, mind briefly going back to a previous conversation.

"There is a country in Europe with a peculiar form of theater. Their scenario, called Canovaccio, consists only of a list of acts and scenes; the details are left to the improvisation of the actors. Creativity and an inventive mind thus become essential to the success of the play. My suggestion is to prepare a similar list of topics, and then once it's time to improvise the rest."

"I like this idea. Just let your own feelings guide you Amiya, and I'm sure everything will be fine."

Just speak her mind, uh?

Alright. That, she could do.

"As far as I can remember, I have been raised by doctors." Her gaze slowly moved from the crowd to the drones and back again, speaking as if she was addressing her own Operators and there was a very important matter that must be explained without leaving any doubt or misunderstanding.

"When a person was sick, they gave a cure. When a person was in pain, they offered comfort. When a person had little left to live, they were there by their side until the end. They set fair prices so they could continue helping people, and if a patient couldn't pay with money they worked together to find an alternative. Never did they turn away someone asking for their help."

She put a hand over her heart, and felt the ever-present burn of crystals digging through her veins. Remembered how where now they merely burned, they had once ripped. "If not for that kindness and dedication, I would have died scared, alone and in pain years ago."

Her Oripathy didn't define her, it defined nobody. But it was an undeniable part of her: she acknowledged it, and then surpassed it. "From them I learned respect, compassion and love. Every day I strive to be someone they can be proud of. Britannia would regard these virtues as weakness."

There was a pregnant pause. Nothing changed in Amiya's expression or posture.

====

"I reply that what Britannia calls strength is nothing more than fear and paranoia."

Shinichiro Tamaki laughed like a loon, hand slapping repeatedly against the table while the other was pressed against his stomach. "Hoooly shiiit! Right in the fucking heart! Ab-so-lu-te-ly savage bunny girl! I'm straight up dying now!"

"You will if you make me miss even a single word." Kallen snapped. The idiot didn't stop, but moved the hand slapping the table to his mouth to muffle the laughing. She would kick him in the shins later, right now she had history to witness.

"There's no way they're going to let her get away with this." Kento murmured in disbelief. "Forget about killing Clovis, she just insulted everything that makes up Britannia."

"But that's what we all think, don't we? She just has more courage than us." Ohgi countered, too afraid to even blink. "Kallen, what do you think?"

"Me? You're joking, right?" Kallen barked out a harsh laugh as she held up her arm, flashing her life support for all to see as she clenched her fist. "I'm in. Even if they hadn't saved my life, there'd be no question about it. No matter what happens from now on, if I miss the chance to be part of the people who told off the Britannian Emperor in front of the whole world, I'll never forgive myself! I'll follow them to the gates of Hell if I have to… but if there's any justice left in this world, we'll take this war right up to the gates of Pendragon!"

Kallen reveled in the resulting cries of support that statement brought forth. Not just from the sense of camaraderie they instilled… but the one emotion they carried that had long been dead in their hearts, ever since Naoto had died; long before that, even.

For the first time in god knows how long… Kallen felt hope.

====

"You say that a person who offers help to those in need of it is weak. Not realizing that, if you were in their shoes, you too would wish for someone to extend a hand to you."

Diethard was running as if his life was depending on it, calling up every scrap of football training he did during university to go as fast as possible. He muscled his way through the crowd, even resorting to use his camera as a battering ram, before finally reaching the spot he eyed on the way there.

That an unfamiliar recording drone was already present was an inconsequential matter, the blonde man just stepped closer until they were bumping shoulder-to-chassis and started recording. This was the best angle possible for this momentous, historic event and nothing would stop him!

He did, however, feel a flare of professional irritation when the drone turned around to face him and buzzed angrily. "Don't look away! Keep recording! You can't miss even a single second! You have more of those drones, right? Move them there, there and there!"

Without even looking he used the hand not holding up the camera to point at various spots around the area. "Those are much better camera angles! The second and third are especially good for close-ups, so make sure to take a lot of them."

The drone had the courage to buzz and sway in a decidedly offended manner before, begrudgingly, doing as Diethard said. Amateurs, they can't get anything done well unless you guide them by hand.

====

"You disregard bonds between people which don't consist of mutual exploitation as a weakness. Forgetting we all started our lives as newborns, helpless and feeble, and it is only through years of unrewarded effort by someone else that we learn how to stand on our feet."

"Oh my! How bold!" Kaguya Sumeragi clapped her hands in delight. Here she thought it would be a depressing evening, being forced to meet with the JLF to discuss Britannia's heavy losses at Shinjuku only because she was the closest Six Houses representative available, all the while the cousin who Kaguya thought dead was getting sentenced for a crime she hoped he committed. It would, at the very least, wash away the shame of being a Britannian soldier and not informing his family he was still alive for ten years.

The rest of the JLF leadership were whispering among themselves, both agreeing with Miss Amiya but also chastising her for being too rash. As if she didn't do more in a day than all of them combined in their whole lives. General Katase was silent, following the events on the screen with great interest. Still too indecisive for Kaguya's tastes, but he had more dignity than his subordinates.

Except for one. She looked up at the man standing next to her, face seemingly carved from granite. "What do you think, Tohdoh-dono?"

The Lieutenant Colonel didn't answer immediately, one hand still gripping his katana as if the act of letting go of it was akin to cutting off a limb. "I think it is a great tragedy when young people need to fight."

The heiress tilted her head. "Oh?"

"I think it is a great tragedy when the younger generations need to step up and do what the older ones failed to achieve."

The arm holding his katana rose to his chest's level, thumb idly rubbing the tsuba. "I think I will carry the shame of being unable to prevent the struggles of the younger generations until my last breath."

How melodramatic; but then, that was what made him one of the people necessary for Japan's revival in her opinion. Kaguya would have to try to contact this Rhodes Island later, see if she could work out a collaboration that would see Tohdoh put to far better use than merely sharpening his blade.

And if Rhodes happened to count a tall, dark and mysterious revolutionary among their ranks? Why, that would be enough to make her fall in love!

====

"You go and bring violence to the homes of people you don't know, destroying their lives. Because they failed to stop you, you call them weak. Because they are weak, they must now toil and labor at your leisure. Because they are weak you strip away from them everything they own even if you don't need it, because the weak aren't entitled to anything. Because they are weak, you call yourself strong.

"I call you a bully. I call you a thief. I call you pitiable, because you know only how to destroy."

"Ooof! I like that girl's spunk, but ooof!" Rivalz winced as if he'd just taken a blow to the kidney. "This is not going to end pretty."

Nina thought the same thing, but saying it out loud meant agreeing with Rivalz Cardemonde and she found she'd come to value her newfound self-respect. So what if she, according to Warfarin, had almost suffered an aneurysm in the process of acquiring it? The results were totally worth it! Instant therapy should absolutely be a thing!

The counterweight, of course, was that she was currently on first name speaking terms with the same girl who just took a bucketful of Britannia's filthy waters and threw it at the nation's entire cultural identity. Along with the guy that, she was sure, was planning to gut the Emperor with a rusty spoon. Ahahah, the things one must do for science!

Shirley was also watching with rapt attention, and while Nina would not say unkind things about the orange-haired girl… she also doubted her friend was aware of the sheer magnitude of the events currently unfolding. Unlike Milly, who had completely dropped her 'party-girl' persona and was now analyzing the ongoing display with every bit of acumen that she, as a noble heiress, had been raised with. Her demeanor would instantly revert the moment someone addressed her, or when Milly realized Nina was watching her, but the green-haired genius was content to keep her mouth shut for the moment.

After all, Nina's time was far better spent running through a mental checklist of the necessities required for preparing a travel kit with enough cash and copies of her research in case she ever needed to jump on the first plane for Australia.

Nina was no longer a paranoid pessimist, but by no means did that mean she was no longer a realist!

====

"You kill, steal and enslave. You burn everything that doesn't conform to your way of life. You sneer at everyone that doesn't share your convictions. You shield yourself with self-righteousness, and yell in outrage when someone else uses your own ideology against you. You target only those who cannot fight back, because your beliefs are so fragile you cannot stand even a hint of resistance."

A soft, melodious laugh spilled forth from painted lips before Rakshata Chawla rested her pipe's tip over them and puffed, filling her lungs with delicious burning. "The lil' bunny has a fire in her, I like that!"

The fact she was yet another follower of that waste of medical skills was mildly irritating, but it was only expected for young boys and girls to be a little stupid. Everything else? Very promising, and Chawla had always appreciated a daredevil-like presentation.

"Not a simple resistance member, but a revolutionary…" The dark-skinned beauty mused, gently blowing out smoke in the way she was taught during her university days. Lloyd could never stand the smell, and Cècile never missed a chance to remind Chawla smoking was bad for her health. That had been, she would admit to very few people, a somewhat enjoyable chapter of her life.

It was followed by the realization that, for all her will and genius, she would never rise high in the world of Britannian academics. No matter how much better she was compared to the manchild, everyone preferred to look at her nationality rather than her results. It was a different matter in Europe and India, but the shadow of that hypocritical monolith still loomed heavily over her career. It was enough to leave most people bitter, but Rakshata Chawla wasn't most people.

Newton's third law: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. The world order rejected her science? Then she would reject the world order itself.

If these people, this Rhodes Island, thought they could cure the world of the cancer that was Britannia and their metastasized philosophy, that was where she needed to be.

"Assistants, pack your suitcases! I've found the perfect testing stage for my baby!"

====

"This will make for a fantastic opening scene!" Nian laughed, already thinking about the movie's plot. It needed a lot of explosions, people in cool-looking costumes swinging around oversized weapons, a secret sibling or two and a long sequence with the protagonist and deuteragonist having a fist-fight while shouting their ideals at each other and falling down a cliff. Maybe a love triangle… no, that would distract people from the giant robot battles, damn shippers are older than even her! A partner for each important role, that'll shut them up!

Truly, Nian thought while idly batting away another annoyance with her tail, this will be a masterpiece that only a genius like her can bring to life. "Shopkeeper, turn up the volume. I don't want to miss a single line."

"I'll give you whatever you want Lady Yaoguai, just don't kill me please." The man babbled nervously while increasing the volume. "Also, forgive this lowly one but you've already used all the spices I kept in my restaurant. I don't have any more!"

"Come on man, chill." The red-horned woman rolled her eyes while internally guffawing at the pun. Another tail-swatting, followed by opening a spice bottle and pouring the whole content on her noodles. "I haven't killed a single person since coming here, nor do I intend to start now."

He stared at her with incredulity before looking over her shoulders. "You mean they're still alive?"

Nian followed his gaze, taking note of the several unconscious soldiers strewn all over the restaurant. Some of them were even half-inside the furniture and wooden walls. "Yeah. I mean, probably? I'm an old hand at this, but the people who have the balls to try to manhandle me are usually much stronger than those guys, sooo if I went overboard by accident 'snot my fault."

"I'll pray for their souls at the temple after explaining to the government officials that I, as a weak and powerless cook, had no choice but to follow your orders."

"Sure sure, whatever makes your life easier I guess." She took a bite of her noodles, smacking her lips at the taste. Much milder than she'd prefer, but it reminded her of both home and a certain small village she had not visited in two, three hundred years. Hopefully it had been moved onto a plate before a Catastrophe could claim the land.

Idly she wondered what made Amiya decide to set aside the 'we're just doctors' gimmick. It was going to happen sooner or later, but they seemed content to let the elephant in the room wake up at its own pace.

Ah well, it didn't really matter: between the blink of an eye and the next, everything will turn to dust.

Especially those noodles, so she scarfed them down until not even a single drop of broth was left. "Not bad, keep practicing for a century or so and you'll graduate from 'decent' to 'actually good'."

"I'll be dead in a century, Lady Yaoguai." He laconically informed her.

"A pity." She put down the chopsticks. "Where can I find better cooks and spices then?"

"In this country?" The shopkeeper mused. "The absolutely best cooks, and the absolutely best ingredients, all end up the same: serving the Empress and the Eunuchs at the Forbidden City. But that's an–"

Nian was already walking through the door and out of the restaurant.

"--absolutely terrible idea…" He finished lamely. The shopkeeper eyed the door slowly swinging close, the unconscious soldiers and finally the small pile of silver coins left on the counter by Nian. "Time to shave my head and enter a buddhist temple, I guess."

====

"You call yourselves knights, and drape yourselves in a mantle of self-proclaimed nobility and prestige… but all I see are brigands and cowards, who dare not face those they victimize with honor. Too scared to even consider meeting those they consider their lessers with open hands rather than naked blades, and too fearful to dare dream of the future that could be born in such a manner."

"It's a good thing Bradley isn't here." Monica Krushevsky commented with a frown. "Otherwise, things would have already gotten messy."

Gino Weinberg agreed with his fellow blonde. He was willing to bet the man, if he was also watching the feed in Area Sixteen, was now causing a lot of property damage and injuries… out of rage from being called a coward. As he often boldly proclaimed to anyone forced to listen to him, Luciano Bradley didn't give a rat's ass about things like honor and knighthood and proudly played the role of a villain. The rest of his fellow Rounds were likewise displeased by the blatant attack to their principles, but at least they weren't throwing a tantrum. Except for Anya, he was quite sure the pink-haired girl had lost interest a few minutes after the beginning.

And for him? He just thought the bunny ears on that Amiya girl were quite cute. Obviously she had legitimate grievances against Britannia, and even if Gino would fight her if ordered he didn't have a reason to dislike her.

Bismarck, who had remained still as a statue since the beginning of the feed, suddenly moved closer to the TV screen. Did he want to turn it off? That would be un–

CRASH!

Gino considered himself a fairly normal dude in a profession full of weirdos. He enjoyed hobbies like sports and other physically demanding activities, followed popular fashion trends, quickly grew curious about new and interesting stuff and in general he tried to treat everyone he met cordially instead of needlessly looking for troubles. Yes he had a great talent for piloting Knightmare Frames, but it wasn't like he didn't train regularly to keep his skills sharp. It was also very fun, which was an added bonus!

His fellow Knights of the Round, in contrast, were much more quirky. Monica was obsessed with justice, Luciano was an absolute prick, Nonette didn't know the meaning of 'holding back', Anya was Anya and Dorothea wished to become a gender-flipped clone of Bismarck.

Of the Knight of One, Gino could say many things. The man had not a single fun bone in his body, but his leadership skills were unquestionable since even Luciano obeyed his orders without his typical attitude. Due to also being the Emperor's personal guard they didn't see Bismarck often, but every time he made an appearance he was already perfectly informed of the current situation and knew what to do to solve it. He was a great sparring partner, though he got excessively preachy with his advice on how to improve. And while his expression always seemed straight-faced and unflappable, Gino had learned to read Bismarck's emotions from minute changes in his facial features. The blonde had seen the older man satisfied, angry, disappointed, brooding, proud, melancholic and all the other emotions that a normal person ought to feel.

There was another screech of metal grating against circuits and glass as the Knight of One pulled his humongous sword out of the TV he just cleaved in half, leaving the poor device flickering piteously. None of the other people present within the room dared to breathe; even Anya had stopped looking at her phone to stare at Bismarck, her eyes wide.

The Knight of Three thought he also saw an uncharacteristic amused grin on her lips for a split second, but dismissed it as a trick of his mind due to coming to a worrying realization.

Gino Weinberg, before today, had never seen Bismarck Waldstein completely, totally and absolutely pissed off.

"Dorothea." The one-eyed man's voice was calm and composed, but hearing it was like having ice cubes shoved straight down your throat. "When will Luciano finish his pacification campaign in Area Sixteen?"

"L-Lord Waldstein! The pacification campaign is scheduled to end in three months." The answer came quickly as usual, yet the Knight of Four couldn't quite hide her stutter at the start.

"Tell him to wrap up in two."

And here Gino was glad the prick was not with them to ruin their fun.

====

'What's wrong, Bisko boy? Did the little bunny's words hurt your throbbing, swollen ego?' The echo of a woman laughed silently, observing the world through the red-tinged eyes of Anya Alstreim. 'Number One? Break a frontline with prototype technology and no magic eyeball, and maybe you'll be worth my time.'

Spending most of her time as a passenger in a little girl's body, coming out only when the fighting grew intense or Charlie needed to talk with her, could get so dull. She would switch to another body if she could, really, but apparently her Geass activated only when she was close to death's door and she liked Anya. The girl was so cute and polite when the woman taught her etiquette, she even entertained the idea of setting her up as Lulu's playmate.

Then of course the eternal pipsqueak with a brother complex had to ruin everything. Bastard, denying her the chance to spoil cute grandchildren before the world ended. Can't a woman have a nice farewell party without jealous men making a mess?

This Amiya girl already earned the woman's appreciation by making her so-called 'successor' to the seat of Knight of One lose his composure, but it went even beyond that. The contents of the speech didn't interest her, but the determination… that was real. And so was the fact a Knightmare Frame just got taken down by an arrow. An arrow big and resistant enough to do the trick, yes, but still just an arrow. If the secret reports she'd prompted Anya to read yesterday were correct, this Rhodes Island had butchered most of the troops stationed in Area Eleven, almost entirely without using Knightmares.

This was something new. Something that may end up demanding her skills, her focus; she might even die again! Finally… something fun.

If her Lulu didn't already join those people, it was only a matter of time. She hoped they treated him well, this way they could have a great family reunion while she handled a genuine challenge.

Grandchildren may be out of her reach, but Marianne Lamperouge would sooner strangle the little shit that killed her with his own intestines than to end this show called 'life' without a bang.

====

"You say that weakness is a sin."

Amiya stared straight at the closest camera. He told her that man would be watching, and she didn't intend to be found wanting. In fact… from the very moment she'd heard the truth of this world, of the man who'd wrought so much upon so many… Amiya had known exactly what she wanted to say to him. The unimpeachable truth she wanted to declare for all the world to hear, without regret or remorse.

'Here it is, Charles zi Britannia.' she thought furiously, her ire, normally so rare and nonexistent, stoking higher and higher by the moment. Because Amiya felt what his actions caused, and it was the most heinous thing she ever had the misfortune of experiencing. 'This is what I think of your bloodstained ideals. Because you… you are different. You are wholly unlike all others I have known. Beyond the Black Serpent. Beyond Theresis. Beyond every foe I have ever faced in my life… you… you are the one person… who I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt…'

And in that instant Amiya's eyes blazed red, a black silhouette glinting above her brow for a split-second.

'That I cannot suffer to sit atop a throne, for even a moment longer!'

"I reply that Britannia—that its so-called Emperor, the Tyrant Charles zi Britannia—knows nothing of real strength!"

====

"Now even bunny girls decry Britannia." V.V. commented impassively. He shouldn't be surprised, from the very start the intent had always been to use the nation as a sledgehammer to quickly gain control of all Thought Elevators. To do that efficiently they needed a strong military and a culture that wouldn't think twice of fighting the whole world in order to take their stuff. That it would lead to literally everyone hating Britannia was a natural conclusion anyone with a lick of mental capacity could reach.

The thought of actively contributing to the creation of this monument to all he despised about humanity left V.V. feeling vaguely disgusted at the start, but after fifty years he had become inured to it. Despite his childish body his mind was still that of an adult, and adults didn't care about unpleasant minutiae if they lead to a bigger payoff in the future. Everything will be worth it once he and Charles completed the Ragnarök Connection.

Speaking of brother dearest. V.V. looked up at his taller sibling, seeing him staring the bunny girl dead in the eyes despite being separated by thousands of miles. He looked disappointed, as was often the case those days but almost always for good reasons. Even this new rebel rabble, this Rhodes Island, was not different.

Victory? Defeat? All of that meant nothing. Britannia can die in a fire right this instant for all V.V. cared, and he would welcome it with a laugh. This nation's days were numbered anyway.

The only thing that truly mattered was the World Without Lies.

====

"Nailed it!" Closure clapped, all of her expectations not just met but exceeded by several magnitudes. The global views, already high when the procession started, skyrocketed once Amiya made her appearance and had just kept on rising from there.

"And with this, there is truly no going back." Lelouch slowly stood up from his seat, looking more alive than ever and smiling like a man who was having the time of his life. "Victory or defeat. Life or death. There are no other options for us now. In order to move forward we must turn an impossibility into reality: in other words, we must create a miracle."

"Yeah…" Closure's grin shrank, her mania replaced by melancholy as she nodded in grim agreement with his words. "You've certainly got that right Lelouch. No two ways about it."

This time, this time they would do it. Rhodes would succeed, where before they had stumbled. No more tragedies, no more bittersweet endings. No more healing the symptoms while being rarely able to fix the cause. Theresa may not have predicted something like this would happen, who could have, but Closure was sure they had her blessings from the afterlife.

The Sarkaz eyed her co-pilot walking away, stopping only to pick up something off the table. C.C. acted like she didn't care, but the fact she stopped snacking betrayed her interest. "Going already?"

"After such a stunning display, how can I not act?" Lelouch eyed the mask in his hands for a second before pressing it against his face, the tool unfolding to cover his whole head. "It is the duty of a proper employee, after receiving a heartful motivational speech from their boss, to respond with their very best performance."

The green-haired girl rolled her eyes. "You just want to join in the fun."

"One does not exclude the other." He replied with an unseen grin, dropping a credit card on C.C.'s couch while passing by. "Pre-paid, with some spare charge. Closure, since a promise of reward was not enough to shut up this bothersome woman, let me know if keeping her mouth occupied otherwise is a valid alternative."

"I'll get back to you on that." Going by how C.C. all but glued the phone to her ear once Lelouch was away Closure wasn't so certain it would not backfire on the amethyst-eyed youth, but that sounded very much like a not her problem.

Her problem was directing the drones and trying to understand where the red-horned bitch went. Despite being crazy she damn well knew her high-yield explosives, but Closure didn't like the fact they lost track of her after she finished her part.

Nothing good ever came from leaving W unsupervised.

====

Jeremiah Gottwald wished with all his being to pull the trigger and turn Amiya into a fine red mist. How dare this girl, this child insult Britannia as if she had the right to judge them! How dare she insult the legacy of His Lady, who was the very embodiment of the ideals of knighthood! What did she know of honor? What did she know of loyalty?!

Nothing. She will never know the reason Jeremiah was not acting, even knowing full well the futility of doing so, was because his loyalty did not permit him to die yet. Because no Prince or Princess would ever authorize the uttering of such vile lines, meaning what Jeremiah was dealing with was not a bid to the throne but a genuine threat to Britannia.

He would remain alive, and ensure Britannia's response was prepared to handle this new enemy.

"This is all. I thank you for your attention." Amiya bowed slightly to the crowd, which was too stunned to react. "We will now depart, together with the innocent man you intended to unjustly execute for our actions."

The–Jeremiah commanded his Knightmare to look to the side, realizing that nobody had their eyes on the prisoner since the start of the damnable girl's speech. Only to find the guards strewn about unconscious, and Kururugi flat-out gone. The only thing left of him was the discarded collar, with not a single hint of where he could possibly have disappeared to. "Villetta, we have a problem!"

"Trust me my Lord, I'm looking at an even bigger one! The terrorist–!" The Margrave turned back to the fake car, inhaling sharply when he found it empty. He averted his gaze for just a few seconds, yet it had been enough for Amiya and the driver, who had remained silent and unmoving from start to finish, to seemingly vanish into thin air. "They were there one moment, then gone the next!"

"Well she certainly didn't get pulled up and out of a hat!" Jeremiah snarled. "Find her!"

But before Jeremiah or his men could follow through on those orders, the world was shaken once more, only this time literally instead of philosophically.

Several explosions, along with the night suddenly being illuminated as if the sun rose early, stopped the Knightmares in their tracks. Trails of light shot upward from the top of a nearby skyscraper, fanning out like the petals of a flower before exploding in brilliant cascading waves of blue, azure and white. Each one was accompanied by the deep, thunderous boom of a C4 explosion, to the point Jeremiah thought he was witnessing fighter jets exchanging missiles rather than what was, by all accounts, a pyrotechnic display.

And on the rooftop of that building, illuminated by floodlights and crowned by the fireworks above, were people. The feed on the nearby screens changed, now showing Amiya and other people standing on the rooftop's edge while looking down on the street. Only she had her face uncovered, the others wore masks to conceal their features. Two in particular caught Jeremiah's attention, if only because they were standing on both sides of Amiya like knights escorting their charges and the fact they looked like dark mirrors of each other.

The first, on the girl's left side, wore a medical coat under a heavy black jacket left open, head covered by the jacket's hood and face hidden by a featureless mask with a black-tinted visor where the eyes should be. Their hands were in their pockets, utterly at ease despite looking like a doctor about to enter a heavily contaminated area.

The figure on the girl's right side also wore a hood, but that was where the similarities ended. Instead of a visor the front of their mask was a simple purple oval, and the hood belonged to a capelet with a dark-furred collar. Below it they wore a white collared shirt and a black double-breasted jacket with golden buttons, the style almost but not quite Britannian. As if it was not derivative, but preceding its formation. Their arms were kept perfectly parallel with their body, fingers loose and ready to act at the first hint of danger.

With one last monumental blast—a burst so massive it seemed to consume the entire sky—the fireworks ceased. The smoke hung in the air, faintly illuminated by the lingering glow of the last embers.

"This is our formal declaration of war on the Holy Empire of Britannia." Amiya announced in the deafening silence, her voice echoing out for all to hear, and her expression resolute. "'May I enjoy my life and practice my art, respected by all men and in all times'. This is Rhodes Island's creed, and we will not rest until this is true for everyone. Until Britannia falls, and the peoples of the world can breathe easily once more."



The floodlights went out, replaced by smoke coming out of hidden canisters that quickly covered the whole rooftop in a dense and impenetrable cloud.

"...Go and cordon off the building, let none but yourself leave or enter." Jeremiah declared, his voice completely lacking the previous heat. "Treat every floor as if it's chock-full of armed terrorists trained in urban warfare. Keep me informed."

He cut off the communications before hearing an answer, resting against his seat as he finally allowed exhaustion to seep into his bones.

"Not in a hurry to join?" Villetta asked, her Knightmare moving next to his own.

"Not in a hurry to confirm they vanished without a trace." The orange-eyed man replied. "They planned this well, using assets they likely didn't deploy during Shinjuku to catch us off guard and leaving behind as few hints as possible to prevent us from learning from them."

The dark-skinned beauty rubbed the bridge of her nose. "We are going to catch so much heat for this…"

"Perhaps…" Jeremiah cast his gaze down at Kewell's wreck. At least part of his caution paid off. "How fortunate, then, that we have a convenient scapegoat to catch at least some of it first."

====

"A beautiful speech, don't you think so Kanon?"

Kanon Maldini looked down at Schneizel, thinking of the best way to formulate his reply. "If my Prince forgives me, while I can appreciate the structure, presentation and emotions imbued into the speech… I must nonetheless decry and condemn it for its contents."

"Yes, of course we must. I just thought it would be discourteous to ignore its inherent qualities." The Prime Minister of Britannia chuckled good-naturedly, folding his fingers on his lap. "It's not often that we encounter foes capable of such an impressive performance while using only the bare minimum amount of violence. Much preferable to just randomly bombing places."

It was a good thing they were within the Second Prince's private quarters at Pendragon, it meant Kanon didn't have to deal with the consequences of someone possibly overhearing his Lord's unfortunate choice of words and spreading them as a rumor that would reach Schneizel's political rivals. Not like it didn't happen before, but like normal people Kanon appreciated not having unwanted extra work ruining his schedule. Being Schneizel's secretary was a full-time job, but it didn't mean he didn't have hobbies.

The last member of Schneizel's tea party, Kanon declined to participate as was proper, heaved a sigh. He looked at the pink-haired girl, who finally pulled her gaze away from the screen it had been glued to all this time to look at the blonde prince. "Elder brother, may I borrow your sat phone?"

"Of course Euphemia." Schneizel smiled and gestured to the device. "That's what it is there for."

"Actually, my Prince, we installed it in case of emergencies." Kanon reminded his charge, but all he got in response was a gentle smile.

"Thank you." The Third Princess stood up and approached the phone, which sat on a stool. She dialed the number and, oddly, put the call on speaker. Was it something they were meant to listen to?

Euphemia spoke the instant the call was picked up. "Sister, I'll be joining you in Area Eleven."

Ah, family drama. How fortunate it was not the type Kanon was required to handle.

"What?! Absolutely not!" The Second Princess, for it could be no one else, bellowed. Kanon wondered if Guilford was standing behind Cornelia, wishing he had the freedom to be somewhere else. "Did you somehow miss what just happened?! That is the last place on the planet where I want you!"

"You have it wrong. That broadcast makes it the one place on the planet where I absolutely must be, no matter what." Euphemia's tone brooked no argument, one of the rare moments when the family resemblance became apparent. "You've been requesting to be deployed to Area Eleven for years, haven't you? But Clovis stone-walled you at every turn. Now there's no one who will object to you becoming the next Viceroy, so I'll be joining you as your Sub-Viceroy."

"...While that is true, my intention was to call you after I finished pacifying the Numbers." Cornelia declared through audibly gritting teeth. "Something that the recent events just proved will take more time and dedication than my initial predictions. Until I'm done, you're not setting a foot out of Pendragon!"

"Either you find me a seat on your next military transport out of Pendragon, or I fly there by myself on a civilian aircraft. Without a security detail." Euphemia replied, her serious demeanor flipping to a far more light and airy countenance as she all but sang a retort that had Cornelia, Britannia's Goddess of Victory herself, choking in disbelief and outrage. And then Euphemia proceeded to direct that oh-so-innocent face of hers at her brother. "I'm sure Schneizel will be perfectly happy to get me a first-class ticket, won't he?"

Though it was for but a fleeting moment, the blonde prince's facade broke into an expression that all but screamed 'Don't drag me into this!'

"Schneizel?! Is he there with you?"

"Hello Cornelia." Britannia's Second Prince hastily schooled himself as he respectfully raised a cup. "We were just having tea, I don't-"

"Please, Big Brother?" Kanon didn't have siblings, but he grew up around enough of his peer's sisters to recognize the expression on Euphemia's face as one tailor-made to guilt-trip older siblings.

"Don't you dare Schneizel!" Cornelia roared loud enough to make the phone in Euphemia's hand rattle.

His charge gave him a pleading look, but Kanon could only bow his head apologetically. They both knew it was not proper for a simple Earl like him to meddle in the affairs of the Royal Family.

Also, Schneizel could survive the Goddess of Victory's displeasure.

Kanon would certainly not.

====

Suzaku Kururugi dearly wished someone would finally remove this hood they draped over his head out of the blue. Having his sight blocked wasn't a very big problem at the end of the day, but he really could do without being manhandled by two sets of hands and subjected to the type of drastic, sudden movements a person can normally experience only when riding a roller coaster. He was going to lose his lunch if this continued, and while the bottom of the hood wasn't tied around his neck he would still end up eating part of his own vomit.

Mercifully, after another dozen seconds his carriers slowed down and stopped, Suzaku's feet touching solid ground again. "Finally made it! Thanks for the help Manty, but man it sure was hard keeping up with you. How did you get so fast?" The voice that at the beginning whispered to him to not make a sound released a breath of relief.

"Running on sand… a lot…" That was the first time Suzaku heard his second carrier speak, he didn't expect a shy-sounding girl.

"I'll pass then, urban jungle's enough for me. Last thing I need is to get half a dune stuck in my kicks, or worse, clogging up my cans!"

"Thank you Ethan, Manticore. You did a great job." Another girl spoke up, making Suzaku freeze because he recognized that voice. After all, he heard it twice before and on both occasions he stared at the owner straight in the eyes. "You can go now."

"It was a pleasure! Whistle if you need us again." The two sets of hands let go of his arms and the hood was pulled away. Suzaku blinked a few times, briefly blinded by the light after so long in the darkness, until his eyes adapted again. He was inside what looked like an abandoned cinema, holes in the ceiling likely caused by explosions allowing the moon to cast a gentle glow on the surroundings.

There were several people arrayed around him, either standing or sitting on both the remaining seats and the piles of rubbles. They wore masks and strange clothes, but Suzaku immediately recognized the cat-eared woman who dismantled the Lancelot and drove Lloyd catatonic.

The second person he recognized was Amiya, the leader of Shinjuku's terrorists and the one who saved him. She was standing in front of him, flanked by two masked figures in black clothes: strangely enough, despite smiling it was the kind used to hide a deep worry. "Sorry for the rough treatment, Mister Kururugi. And for the hood, we thought it would reduce possible motion sickness. I hope you're feeling better now."

"Who–" His hand flew to his neck, expecting an electric shock, but nothing happened and his fingers touched only bare skin. Right, they somehow took off the collar after blinding him. "Who are you people?"

"You already heard my name, but I'm Amiya. The leader of Rhodes Island." The bunny-eared girl bowed politely. "I'm glad I can finally meet you face to face, Kururugi Suzaku."

"And I'm the Doctor. Nice to meet you." The masked figure on the left replied with a playful tone. "Despite my name I'm more of a field commander and strategist, but I still do proper research when I'm not burdened by paperwork."

The second figure put a hand over their chest and, spreading out their other arm to the side, bowed at the waist. His voice was male, yet altered by a modulator. "Unlike my colleagues I don't possess such lofty titles, for I am a recently recruited member of this esteemed organization. Nonetheless it is my pleasure to welcome you, Kururugi Suzaku, to this gathering of Rhodes Island's executives."

He straightened up, and despite the mask Suzaku felt the target of a stare that knew far too much about the Japanese youth for his liking.

"And for myself, you may call me… Chessman."