Pursuing the Rebels

[Clovis la Britannia]

Clovis sat in front of chess board, staring across at the opponent that wasn't there, Clovis was replaying that game again. That game from so long ago, which Lelouch had left him with before he had departed to Japan, which had now become Area 11 under Britannian rule. Clovis had come there as the new Viceroy, but it was not simply duty which had brought him forth from Pendragon. Rather he wanted to be close to his brother's final resting place, at first he had searched tirelessly but by now it was more a matter of closure for him to be there. Lifting his hand , he laid it on the head of the white queen, lifted it and set it down in the exact same spot. Even with so many years passed between them, playing chess against his brother was still so difficult. He had done so many times since that day and the correct move, the correct answer had never occurred to him. He could never focus when he re-enacted this game, he always wound up thinking of Lelouch rather than the game, Nunally too and Empress Marianne as well. Perhaps it never would, perhaps the game was meant to remain unfinished, their rivalry, their relationship left open.

There was an urgent, insistent knock at the door. At first Clovis ignored it, resting his chin in his palm as he contemplated the board further. Then the knock came again, thumping through his concentration. 'Enter.' The bulbous figure of Bartley Aspirus soon waddled in to the room, something about a scheduled broadcast even though Clovis had made it abundantly clear that he was not to be disturbed. Honestly, the man had his uses but he was an absolute imbecile sometimes. Sighing, Clovis rose from his seat and crossed towards the door. Bartley made some offhand comment about him playing chess, to which the Prince responded with a derisive snort. He just wasn't in the mood to deal with this man, or anyone else for that matter. The fact that Bartley had known him long enough that he should have known better only worsened his mood. For someone who enjoyed company as much as Clovis, Bartley ought to have at least known that when he wanted to be left to his own devices there was a damn good reason for it. It wasn't as if they couldn't push it back for a day anyway, all these public broadcasts had gotten dreadfully samey in the last few months.

Down in the court hall where he held all his public addresses, Clovis was being briefed again by Bartley as one of the news staff powdered his face with something. He wasn't listening, he'd read the initial brief the day before. Instead his eyes were fixed on the woman powdering his face. 'You have beautiful eyes,' he said out of the blue. She paused and smiled, blushing a little to be complimented by a member of the Royalty. Bartley grumbled something about him not listening, but Clovis silenced him with a wave of his hand. 'You should come back and model for me some time in the future.' There was a brief announcement that they were ready and waiting for him and Clovis strode out in front of the cameras as another attendant placed his cloak over his shoulders. He stood there, waiting for the recording light to burst in to life and smirked briefly to himself.

Ha, I'm either a political tool or the greatest method actor who's ever lived. Not exactly what we had in mind was it, Lelouch?

'Honourable nobles, loyal subjects, Honorary Brittannians all!' He clutched at his chest with one hand, lurching forwards seemingly in pain as he shut his eyes, his voice lowering. 'Our heart is overcome with sadness. That some would return the love of this, the very greatest of nations, with nothing but disdain tears my heart in two.' Opening his eyes and fixing the camera lens with them, he kept his hand upon his breast as he carried on. 'This peaceful and idyllic province of ours has suffered under a cowardly act of the most heinous kind of terrorism. The radicals, having secured a deadly chemical weapon now threaten the good and loyal people of Area 11 to further their own selfish agenda.'

He cast his hand to one side in a sweeping gesture a his expression darkened, his eyebrows dipping into a scowl. 'But I say now that our mighty and prosperous Empire shall not be cowed by the threats of these madmen. Therefore we implore you, not as your Prince or as your Viceroy but as a loyal citizen of our land, to become our eyes and ears in pursuit of these cowards! That we may then bring the hammer of justice down upon them swiftly and heavily! All Hail Brittannia!'

It was only after the cameras had stopped that the full gravity of what as happening sunk in.

[Vincent Miles]

Unfocused eyes locked on the giant screen affixed to a building's facade. Smoke drifted listlessly from the cigarette in firmly pressed lips. Words of justice and vengeance filtered through ears repeatedly damaged by concussive force, only to be repaired time and time again. A calloused hand raised, gripping the cigarette between index and middle fingers. Sergeant First Class Vincent Miles exhaled a small cloud of smoke through his nose.

He stared through the smoke at the screen. The Viceroy, Third Prince Clovis, was making promises of brutal retribution against the terrorists. There had been an attack. Given its nature, there was exactly not a goddamn thing that Vince could do about it. So, naturally, they had called him in to work anyway. He dropped the cigarette to the ground between his feet and crushed it out. "Yeah. Justice," he remarked under his breath, tone acidic. "You ever think that maybe they've got a reason?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets and went back inside. The office was chaos. Lower ranking soldiers ran this way and that, carrying reports from one superior to another, phones rang constantly, people were shouting. Vince sighed and shouldered his way through the mess, headed for his office.

Within, an Honorary Britannian in full combat gear shot to his feet from the chair he had been lounging in as Vince entered. Vince gave the man a half-hearted wave. "Sit the fuck down before you fall the fuck down, Akiyama," he commanded as he walked past. The soldier muttered an affirmative and dropped back to the seat. Vince sat heavily into the seat behind his desk.

He looked to Akiyama once he was settled. "So this attack. Who do you think was behind it?"

The Honorary Britannian gave a shrug. "It is hard to say, Sergeant," he replied. "The Blood of the Samurai has the equipment for it, but they lack the conviction. Some of the smaller groups are extreme enough, but lack the material. I believe that blame could be placed on the Japanese Liberation Front. General Tohdoh would have spoken against it, but he can exert only so much control over the other leaders."

Vince nodded. "Good assessment, but I think you're not giving the little guys enough credit." He liked Akiyama. The kid was smart and strong and never gave up. Vince glanced at the monitor on his desk. It was as he had left it: showing a highly classified report on the attack. He knew what was coming - he could feel it in the atmosphere.

Blood would be shed this day.

He pulled a set of keys from a drawer and tossed them to Akiyama. "Get my armor and Julie, kid, then you can go home for the day. If anyone asks, your mom got sent to the hospital." He cracked his knuckles with a succession of loud pops. At first Akiyama was slow to move. He looked confused. "For shit's sake, kid, I'm not going to ask you to kill your own people. Now get going already!"

Vince stood and went to his window once Akiyama was gone. There was something extra in the air. Not just the imminent bloodshed... something that Vince didn't recognize. Whatever it was, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He didn't know what, exactly, was coming, but he knew this much: whatever it was, it promised to be very, very, bad for a lot of people.