Code Geass: Palingenesis

A young woman sat in a cold, sterile room, surrounded by corpses laid out on metal tables. One was an old woman who appeared to have died peacefully in her sleep. The other was a severely mutilated young man, his body bearing the wounds of battle.

Her bright green hair stood out against the stainless steel and white tiles. From the stillness of her posture, it was clear that she had been waiting in the morgue for some time. Yet unlike most young women, she seemed entirely unfazed by her morbid surroundings. If anything, she appeared oddly at ease.

The doors burst open with a bang. Two soldiers hurried in, wheeling another body beneath a white sheet.

"Is that him?" the woman asked.

"Yes, C.C. We brought you his body, as requested." One of the soldiers hesitated. "What are you planning to do with him?"

C.C. glanced at him.

"Why? Are you concerned about the tyrant emperor?"

A faint smirk touched her lips.

"Maybe a little," the soldier replied. "He may have been a tyrant, but he was still our emperor. It's not like the ones before him were much better."

C.C. regarded him with mild amusement.

It seems you didn't completely succeed after all, Lelouch.

She dismissed the soldiers, assuring them that he would receive a proper burial, even if it was to be a private one.

As they turned to leave, the soldier who had spoken paused and looked back at the covered body. He raised a hand in salute.

"So long, Your Majesty."

He held the salute for a moment before following the other soldier out.

Now alone, C.C. stood beside the covered body, staring in silence.

"You were one of many who failed to keep their promise," she murmured at last. "And yet, somehow, you are the only one I'm relieved did."

Her expression eased.

"Fate has a rather cruel sense of humor, doesn't it?"

She wanted to look at him one final time before laying him to rest. Slowly, she reached for the sheet and drew it down.

The moment his forehead was revealed, she stumbled backward and struck the hard floor, staring at him in shock.

A sigil rested upon his brow, its arms spread like the wings of a bird in flight.

"The Geass sigil...?"

C.C. tore the sheet away from the rest of his body. The wound where the sword had pierced his chest was gone.

She placed a hand against his skin.

It was warm.

"Lelouch?"

She seized him by the shoulders and shook him.

"Lelouch. Wake up."

There was no response.

"Lelouch..."

She shook him again, more gently this time, but his body remained limp.

C.C. pressed two fingers against his neck.

There was no pulse. No breath. Yet his skin remained impossibly warm beneath her touch.

Slowly, she began to understand, though her mind still refused to abandon hope. She placed her palm against the sigil on his forehead. Her own mark began to glow, but no connection formed.

Memories… Voice… There was no response. No presence.

She could no longer deny it. His body had somehow been restored, but whatever soul had once inhabited it was gone.

C.C. sank to the floor and covered her face with her hands.

"You really are cruel, Lelouch," she whispered. "Leaving me once wasn't enough, was it?"

Her fingers tightened against her temples.

"Even death hasn't stopped you from playing with people's hearts."

---

C.C. lay atop a cart piled with hay, staring up at the bright blue sky. A week had passed since she had found Lelouch's body. The despair of that day had begun to fade, replaced by a faint sense of hope.

"Geass, the power of the king, isolates people. Maybe that's not quite correct. Right, Lelouch?"

A strange melancholy settled over her as she stared into the endless blue above, softened by an unexpected sense of relief.

"What was that?" called the man from the front of the cart.

C.C. blinked, drawn out of her thoughts.

"Oh, nothing."

"Well, in any case, we've arrived, miss."

He pulled on the reins, bringing the cart to a stop.

C.C. climbed down from the hay. By the time her feet touched the ground, the man had already uncovered and unloaded a large rectangular box hidden beneath it.

"Aren't you going to ask what's inside?" she asked, a teasing edge to her voice.

"I'm paid not to, miss."

"Then you've certainly earned your payment."

She handed him the money. No sooner had he pocketed it than he climbed back onto the cart and set off.

Left alone beside the large box, C.C. turned her attention to what appeared to be a small bunker, nearly swallowed by the surrounding vegetation. So many structures had been abandoned after the war that it blended into the landscape as naturally as the trees and undergrowth around it.

She exhaled and took hold of the box.

"Let's get this over with."

With that, she began dragging it toward the bunker.

C.C. passed through a rusted trapdoor and descended a long, winding staircase. At its end, her surroundings suddenly opened before her.

The chamber opened into something vast enough to resemble a city. Hundreds of buildings stretched beneath the distant rock ceiling, their outlines disappearing into the cavernous dark.

But there was no life here.

Its streets were scarred by bomb craters, while shrapnel and bullet holes covered the surrounding buildings. The ruins bore the marks of the Black Knights' assault as clearly as they had on the day it happened.

"I had hoped I would never have to return here," C.C. murmured.

She slowly dragged the box through the abandoned streets.

Some part of her had hoped she might find someone still alive. One glance around the ruined city was enough to extinguish that hope. Her previous visit had achieved its purpose.

The Black Knights had left no one behind.

Building after building, machine after machine, nothing she needed had survived the assault. Whatever reservations the Black Knights may have held, they had carried out their orders meticulously.

That remained true until she reached the lowest level.

At the outskirts of the underground city, a concealed elevator descended deep beneath the ruins. At its bottom stood a specialized laboratory, hidden even from the Order itself.

Why she had never told Lelouch about it, C.C. could not say. Perhaps some part of her had hoped that those inside might survive. Or perhaps, in the chaos of the assault, she had simply forgotten it existed.

If the answer had not come to her immediately, then any explanation she chose now would only serve to reassure her.

So she chose none.

At last, C.C. opened the box. She lifted Lelouch's body from within and placed him inside the machine before sitting down at the computer.

She selected Analyse.

With nothing left to do but wait, C.C. slumped back in the chair. The exhaustion of the past week finally caught up with her, and before long, her eyes began to close.

A sharp beeping dragged her from her sleep.

C.C.'s eyes opened. The analysis was complete.

She leaned toward the screen and opened the results.


CODE SIGNATURE: UNKNOWN
CLOSEST ARCHIVED MATCH: V.V. - VICTOR ZI BRITANNIA
CONSCIOUSNESS ECHO: ABSENT


C.C. stared at the results, puzzled.

"So Charles's Code really did pass to you."

Her eyes returned to the final line.

"But how can a Code remain without a consciousness to bear it? The body alone shouldn't be enough."

For hours, C.C. paced back and forth through the laboratory. She pressed her fingers against her temples, pulled irritably at her hair, and searched her memories again and again. Nothing came to her.

In all the centuries she had lived, she had never encountered anything like this.

From everything she understood about Codes, it should not have been possible.

Growing desperate, she turned to the laboratory's archives. File after file passed across the screen as she searched for anything that might explain Lelouch's condition—even the smallest detail she had overlooked.

Then one entry caught her attention.


TITLE: CONGREGATION FOR THE ASCENSION OF GEASS

ABSTRACT: Splinter group formed approximately one century ago. Its members regarded the acquisition of a Code as a sacred ascension and rejected the Order's treatment of Geass as a purely scientific phenomenon.

LAST KNOWN LOCATION: Pendragon, capital of Britannia. Precise location unknown.

CURRENT STATUS: Unknown.


C.C. stared at the file.

It wasn't much, but it was the first thing that resembled a lead. With no other options, she had to follow it.

As C.C. left the laboratory and reentered the ruins, the deafening silence was suddenly broken by approaching voices.

"Aniki, I'm telling you, there are bad spirits here. I heard something echoing through the ruins. Like metal scraping against stone…"

"Did you ever consider that it might actually have been metal scraping against stone?"

"I'm telling you, aniki, it's more than that. I can feel something here. Ever since we found that creepy kid."

"That's just the mold. Makes everyone feel like shit."

"You've got to believe me, aniki—"

The two men abruptly fell silent.

They had turned a corner and come face-to-face with C.C.

The sceptical one stared at her, then at the large box beside her. A smile slowly spread across his face.

"What's in the box, miss?" he asked. "Looks valuable."

C.C. regarded him without interest.

"That is none of your concern. Find something else to occupy yourselves with."

"Oh, no. I think I've found something right here."

He drew his gun and motioned for her to step aside.

Rather than obey, C.C. moved in front of the box.

"Leave," she said firmly.

The man looked her over.

"What a shame. That white suit looks good on you, too." He sighed and raised the gun toward her head. "But you're not worth the trouble. I'll find a brothel later."

The gunshot echoed through the cavern.

C.C.'s body collapsed to the ground.

"Aniki, why?" the other man exclaimed. "She could've made us a fortune."

"Trust me. Some girls just aren't worth the effort." He lowered his gun and looked down at her. "After enough experience you can just sense these things."

The bandits dragged the box back to their camp in the centre of the ruins. Several other men stood guard among the scattered supplies, accompanied by two idle Knightmare Frames. Nearby, a young girl sat alone inside a metal cage.

One of the guards looked up as they approached.

"What did you bring us?"

"Not sure," the sceptical bandit replied. "Some broad was dragging it around. Looked valuable, so we took it."

"And you let her go?"

"The situation got out of hand. Forget about it." He gestured toward the box. "Anyway, let's see what's inside."

One of the men examined its sealed lid.

"How are we supposed to open this thing? Did you check her for a key?"

"Ah, shit. I forgot after I shot her." The bandit shrugged. "It happens in the heat of the moment."

"This should do."

The guard picked up a length of metal and wedged it beneath the lid.

"Give me a hand."

Several men gathered around the box and forced their weight against the improvised lever. For several seconds, nothing happened.

Then the lock gave way with a sudden crack.

The lid flew open, and the men stumbled backward from the release of pressure.

"What the hell is this?" one of them shouted.

"Huh?"

The sceptical bandit climbed to his feet and peered inside. The colour drained from his face.

"T-The tyrant emperor?"

"I told you to leave."

The voice came from directly behind him.

Before he could turn, C.C. placed a hand against the side of his head.

His body seized.

A torrent of images tore through his mind. He screamed, clawing at his face as tears streamed from his eyes. Within moments, his skin had turned deathly pale and his body went limp in C.C.'s grasp.

The other bandit stared at her in horror.

"I told you Aniki. This place is cursed!"

He turned and fled into the ruins.

C.C. released the man she was holding, allowing him to collapse at her feet.

One of the remaining guards watched her cautiously, his hand hovering near his weapon.

"Who are you?"

"That is none of your concern."

"Why are you transporting the tyrant emperor's corpse?"

"Again, none of your concern."

The guard drew his pistol and shot her through the head.

C.C. fell backward.

He stared down at her body and lowered the smoking weapon.

"Let's see what concerns me now, you stupid bitch."

For a moment, no one moved.

Then C.C.'s hand closed around the pistol beside the fallen bandit.

She sat upright. The wound in her forehead was already beginning to close.

The guard barely had time to turn before she raised the pistol and fired. The bullet struck him in the head, killing him instantly.

The remaining bandits stared at her as though she were a demon.

Before they could recover from their shock, C.C. sprinted toward the nearest Knightmare Frame. She climbed into the cockpit and activated it.

The machine guns roared to life.

The first burst tore through the men reaching for their weapons. The others scattered through the camp, but within moments, the encampment had fallen silent once again.

C.C. checked the Knightmare's infrared sensors.

A single figure was fleeing through the ruins.

The missile struck, killing him instantly.

An explosion briefly illuminated the cavern.

"What a nuisance," C.C. muttered as she landed the Knightmare.

She climbed out and returned to the box.

"I hope you haven't been damaged."

The box had fared worse than its occupant. The lock was broken, and the lid had been bent badly enough that it would no longer close. C.C. tried forcing it down, but the warped metal refused to move.

"Um..."

C.C. turned sharply.

The girl in the cage was staring at her.

"What?"

The girl flinched at her tone.

C.C. looked at her more closely. "Who are you?"

"I not have name."

"No name?" C.C. paused. "I suppose that makes two of us."

"hurt me?"

The question gave her pause.

Even if inconvenient, the thought of killing a child simply because she had seen too much left a bitter taste in C.C.'s mouth. She no longer had the stomach for such things... at least, not for so trivial a reason.

"No" she answered.

The girl continued watching her cautiously.

"What are you doing in there?" C.C. asked.

"Them put me here."

"Where did they find you?"

"Downstairs."

C.C.'s eyes narrowed. "Downstairs?"

"Underneath."

"Can you show me where?"

The girl shook her head. "Not know. This first time I outside."

C.C. sighed.

"I suppose I should have left one of them alive. This is what I get for killing everyone."

She raised the pistol and fired at the lock.

The girl screamed and covered her head.

"Calm down," C.C. said as the cage door swung open. "If I intended to shoot you, I wouldn't have aimed at the lock."

The girl slowly lowered her hands.

"You're free now," C.C. told her.

"Free?"

"Yes. You can go."

"Go where?"

C.C. stared at her.

Of course. Where could she go?

The girl appeared to have spent her entire life beneath the facility. She probably did not even understand what freedom meant, much less what she was supposed to do with it.

"Come with me," C.C. said at last. "I'll find somewhere for you to stay."

The girl stepped out of the cage and immediately approached her.

"You follow strangers rather easily," C.C. observed.

"People tell me what do," the girl said. "If I no do, punishment."

C.C.'s expression hardened slightly.

"Are there other people here?"

"Before, yes."

"And now?"

The girl thought for a moment.

"No since four... five months?"

Since the massacre, C.C. realized.

She decided not to ask anything further, not yet.

C.C. carefully lifted Lelouch from the damaged box and carried him into the Knightmare's cockpit. She placed him in one of the seats and secured the restraints around his motionless body, making certain they would hold him upright during the flight.

The girl climbed in after her, staring silently at Lelouch.

"Who he?" she asked.

"As things stand, no one."

With those words, the Knightmare came to life.

Leaving the broken box and the dead bandits behind, they rose from the ruins and emerged into the open sky.

Sunlight shone through the blinds, catching the dust in the dingy hotel room. A television played the latest news in the background.

"Conflict continues in the African territories of the United Republic of Europia, as tensions mount between the Europian government and the United Federation of Nations. The U.F.N. has urged the U.R.E. to grant the affected territories greater autonomy. Europian representatives rejected the proposal, insisting that the matter falls under the Republic's sovereign authority and warning that further decentralization could lead to regional instability.

"With local security forces increasingly unable to contain the violence, the Europian government has formally requested the deployment of Black Knight forces. The Black Knights have yet to announce whether they will intervene."

Bleep.

C.C. switched off the television.

"Miss, why fighting?" the child asked.

"Because that's just what humans do," C.C. replied. "Also, call me C.C."

"Okay, C.C." She smiled.

C.C. glanced at her.

"What should I call you? Did they call you anything at the Order?"

"Only 0-1. Said name not allowed."

C.C. remembered her own time with the Order. She had chosen her place there, but in the end, they had still reduced her to little more than a role.

Did this child have to remain one as well?

"Then let's call you Haru."

The child began to shake.

"No, C.C. No name. No name." Her voice trembled, the words coming faster. "0-1 not allowed name. Please. 0-1 not want punishment."

C.C. stared at her.

The girl looked terrified.

"It's all right. There won't be any—"

"No name. Please, C.C. No name. 0-1 sorry. Please. No punishment."

C.C. tried to answer, but the girl kept talking over her.

She hesitated.

"Fine. We'll call you 0-1 for now. We can decide what to do about the name later."

"Thank you, C.C. Thank you, thank you, thank you…"

"Stop. It's all right."

The girl gradually quieted.

C.C. had taken her silence for passivity. She was beginning to see how wrong that assumption had been.

She could deal with it later.

C.C. turned toward Lelouch, whose motionless body lay across the hotel bed.

"Now," she muttered, "let's figure out what we're going to do about you."

---

With Pendragon gone, C.C. had no obvious place to start.

The Congregation must have left long before the city's destruction, probably not long after separating from the Order. Where they had gone was another question.

C.C. considered who she could ask for help.

There were very few people she trusted with something like this. Even among those who understood the Zero Requiem, plenty would prefer the Tyrant Emperor to remain dead.

Eventually, she picked up the phone and dialled a number.

---

C.C. sat on the terrace of a local café, sipping coffee as she waited. Cars passed along the street beyond, filling the gaps in conversation with the noise of traffic.

A man took the seat opposite her.

A gold-orange mechanical apparatus covered his left eye, and his teal hair caught the sunlight almost as brightly as C.C.'s own.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Jeremiah," C.C. said.

His attention had already shifted to the child beside her.

"Who is she?" He leaned forward. "Is she yours?"

C.C. stared at him.

Jeremiah brightened.

"Did you have her with Master Lelouch? If so, I swear upon my honour that I shall dedicate my life to her protection!"

"No, Jeremiah. Calm down." C.C. took another sip of coffee. "She is neither mine nor Lelouch's."

"Oh."

His disappointment lasted only a moment before he turned toward the girl with another broad smile.

"Well then, little one, should you ever find yourself in need of assistance, you may always call upon Jeremiah Gottwald!"

The girl stared at him.

C.C. sighed.

"You're still hell-bent on that aristocratic sense of duty, aren't you?"

"Of course! What is a man without duty?"

"You're in luck. You're about to have plenty."

---

C.C. led him back to the hotel room.

Jeremiah entered first and stopped dead when he saw the motionless figure lying across the bed.

"MASTER LELOUCH?!"

"Quiet, you big oaf. This needs to remain secret."

Jeremiah barely seemed to hear her.

He dropped to his knees beside the bed.

"I know it was what you wished for, Master Lelouch, but allowing you to die has left a pain in my heart that has never faded." His voice began to tremble. "Please, Master. Tell me how I may serve you once again."

"He can't hear you."

Jeremiah spun toward her.

"What's wrong with him?!"

"That's what I'm trying to find out." C.C. crossed her arms. "And I need your help."

"Of course. Anything for Lelouch. Just tell me what you require."

C.C. handed him a folded piece of paper.

"Find anything you can about this organisation. Records, rumours, surviving members. Most importantly, I need to know where they went after leaving the Order."

Jeremiah examined the paper.

"It would be my pleasure."

Tears still ran down his face when he looked back at Lelouch.

"I promise you, Master Lelouch. I will not fail your family again."

"She not feel you failed."

The room fell quiet.

Jeremiah turned toward 0-1.

"What?"

He rose and crossed the room in two quick steps.

"Who?" He bent toward her. "Who are you talking about?"

0-1 shrank away from him.

"I... not know."

Jeremiah grasped her by the shoulders.

"Who is she?"

"Enough."

C.C. stepped between them and pulled Jeremiah away from the frightened child.

He froze.

The anger left him almost at once.

"I... apologise." Jeremiah lowered his head. "I lost my composure."

He looked back at Lelouch.

"I'll begin immediately. I'll contact you when I find something."

Then he left.

Once the door closed, C.C. looked down at 0-1.

What had that been?

Until now, the girl had barely spoken even to her. Saying something so personal to a complete stranger made little sense.

C.C. watched her for several seconds.

The girl was a poor liar. If she said she did not know what she meant, C.C. believed her.

That left one question.

Where had those words come from?

---

No sooner had Jeremiah boarded the plane back to Britannia than he opened his laptop and began searching for anything he could find on the Congregation.

His military credentials had been revoked after his cooperation with the Tyrant Emperor, despite the pardon he later received.

His contacts were another matter.

Jeremiah worked through them one by one, considering who might be able to provide a lead.

At last, he stopped.

CORNELIA LI BRITANNIA

"Oh dear."

He stared at the screen.

"Do I have any other choice?"

Jeremiah leaned back in his seat.

"She certainly hasn't forgiven him. Do I lie?" His face tightened immediately. "No. Lying to Her Highness is beyond me."

After several moments of increasingly strained thought, he found a compromise.

Leaving out certain details was not technically lying.

Satisfied with this conclusion, he made the call.

---

Cornelia sat behind a desk covered in maps, reports, and stacks of paperwork, one hand pressed against her forehead.

"Had I known joining the U.F.N. involved this much bureaucracy, I would have signed up as a grunt instead," she grumbled.

She picked up another file. Inside were photographs from a recent military operation.

Cornelia scowled at them.

When would she finally be permitted to appear in one of these photographs instead of spending her days stamping documents and sending advisory recommendations to men in suits?

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Madam Cornelia, a Mr. Gottwald is here to see you."

"I was expecting him. Send him up."

A short while later, Jeremiah entered her office.

"So, Jeremiah. Why did you want to speak with me?"

"First, allow me to thank you, Your Highness. It is a great honour that you would grant me this meeting."

"I'm no longer a 'Highness.' Britannia is a republic now." Cornelia gestured wearily toward the mountain of paperwork covering her desk. "I'm a government employee."

"Regardless, Your Highness, my dedication to you and your family is not dependent upon the existence of any state."

Cornelia stared at him.

She knew better than to argue with Jeremiah about matters of loyalty.

"So why are you here?"

"Your Highness, there is a certain organisation I would like your assistance in locating."

"I don't have time to hunt down mysterious organisations for you."

She gestured toward the paperwork again.

"As you can see, I have enough work already."

"That is quite all right. I seek only information. Anything Your Highness can provide would be greatly appreciated."

Cornelia raised an eyebrow.

Jeremiah was rarely this restrained when pursuing one of his causes.

"What organisation?"

"The Congregation for the Ascension of Geass, Your Highness. A splinter group of the Order. They separated from it roughly a century ago."

Cornelia's irritation disappeared.

"A Geass organisation?"

"Yes."

"And you're looking for them because...?"

Jeremiah summoned every ounce of discipline he possessed to keep his face neutral.

"I do not know."

Technically, that was only half a lie.

He really did not know what finding the Congregation was supposed to accomplish. All he knew was that it concerned Lelouch's condition.

That, Jeremiah decided, made his answer sufficiently truthful.

Cornelia narrowed her eyes.

"You're searching for an organisation, but you don't know why?"

"I was asked to."

"By whom?"

"C.C."

Cornelia paused.

"So C.C. is spending her time hunting down remnants of the Order, is she?"

Jeremiah said nothing.

"Did she tell you why?"

A bead of sweat formed on his forehead.

"I don't know the specifics."

Also technically true.

Cornelia watched him for another moment.

"Fine."

Jeremiah almost sighed with relief.

"When I conducted my investigation into the Order, I heard rumours about several adjacent groups operating throughout South America, Africa, and the Golden Triangle. Mostly regions where state authority was weak. I assumed they were operating there to avoid detection, but I never investigated them closely. They were no longer affiliated with the Order."

"Did you ever encounter the name I gave you?"

"Not that I remember. But I can't say I would have considered it important if I had." Cornelia glanced toward the floor beneath them. "Ask Nina or Lloyd about the surviving files. They're downstairs and have access to the archives."

Jeremiah straightened.

"Thank you, Your Highness. This is far more than I could have hoped for."

"Is there anything else?"

"That is all, Your Highness."

Jeremiah turned and headed toward the elevator.

Just before he reached it, Cornelia called after him.

"Oh, and Jeremiah."

He froze.

"You didn't leave out any important details, did you?"

Sweat immediately began pouring down his face.

Jeremiah stood perfectly still.

Then, summoning every last ounce of composure he possessed, he answered:

"No."

Cornelia stared at him.

"That will be all, then."

The elevator doors closed behind him.

The instant Cornelia disappeared from sight, Jeremiah grabbed his head with both hands.

"That wasn't a lie, was it? Lelouch isn't a detail about the organisation. I don't know whether he is. She didn't specify what the details were about. Surely that means—"

Ding.

The elevator doors opened.

Personnel in lab coats hurried through a brightly lit research facility beyond them.

"You have arrived at the U.F.N. International Research Institute," announced the elevator. "Please exit here."

Jeremiah slowly lowered his hands.

"Right."

He stepped out.

---

The contrast between Nina and Lloyd was as amusing as ever to Jeremiah. Lloyd stood more than a head taller than her, his light purple hair bright beside Nina's deep green.

"I see you remain as interesting a pair as ever," Jeremiah declared, announcing his arrival.

"Well, if it isn't the man who refuses to die," Lloyd replied in his usual carefree manner. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Cornelia sent me. I need access to the archives. Is that all right with you?"

"I see no reason why not." Lloyd glanced toward Nina. "You're in there often enough. Would you mind helping our guest?"

"Of course."

Nina led Jeremiah from the room.

They walked in silence for a while.

"Sir Jeremiah?"

"No need for 'sir,' young lady."

"Oh. Right." Nina hesitated. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"You were devoted to Prince Clovis, weren't you?"

"With all of my being."

"Then why did you dedicate yourself to the man who murdered him?"

Jeremiah glanced at her.

"That is quite a question."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"No, that's quite all right. I'll answer."

He was silent for a moment.

"How does one balance loyalties when those loyalties contradict one another? All one can do is decide which comes first and hope the day never arrives when the two are forced into conflict."

"But it did for you, didn't it?"

"It did indeed."

"So why did you choose Lelouch?"

"Because a choice had to be made." Jeremiah looked ahead. "And once such a choice is made, one must be prepared to follow it through to the end."

He glanced at her.

"Is that not what you did as well, young lady?"

Nina looked away.

"I don't know. I'm still not sure what to think about everything that happened."

"Science has the courtesy to offer correct answers. Life is rarely so obliging." Jeremiah gave her a faint smile. "I imagine the future will give you more than enough problems to solve without spending all your time searching the past for an answer that may not exist."

Nina fell silent.

He had a point.

What answer had she expected from him?

Why had she asked in the first place?

They had fought on the same side in the end, but it was a personal question to put to someone she barely knew.

The thought of Lelouch still made her angry.

She simply no longer knew what that anger was for.

By then, they had reached the archives.

"So, what exactly are you looking for?" Nina asked.

"Oh, nothing of great concern. Merely traces of an organisation connected to the Order. Remnants of the past."

Jeremiah found it considerably easier to omit details when speaking to Nina.

"Do you have any idea where to start?"

"Cornelia's investigation into the Order should be somewhere in the archives. That ought to give us something."

They began searching.

Cornelia's memory had been correct. There was no mention of the Congregation itself. The files contained only scattered rumours from around the world: objects said to speak, unexplained mass suicides, spirits stealing items of religious or political significance, and tyrants who abruptly reversed years of policy or took their own lives.

Any of them could have involved Geass.

The trouble was that Jeremiah had no idea whether the Congregation even used Geass themselves.

He sighed.

"What are we supposed to make of all this?"

"I'm sorry." Nina continued scrolling through the reports. "I don't think there's much to go on. Anything that wasn't directly connected to the Order seems to have been dismissed as irrelevant."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that."

A voice came from behind them.

Lloyd had apparently decided to join the investigation.

Jeremiah turned.

"Then please enlighten us, Sir Lloyd, because we appear to have reached an impasse."

"Look at the dates."

Lloyd leaned over the terminal.

"Reports from South America stop almost entirely after Britannia established firm control over the region. The same thing happens around the Golden Triangle once the Chinese Federation strengthened its authority there."

Jeremiah looked back at the screen.

"Oh. You are quite right, Sir Lloyd. Which would mean…"

"Exactly." Lloyd smiled. "These groups either disappeared when state control became too strong or moved somewhere they could operate more freely."

Nina studied the remaining reports.

"Africa."

"Most likely," Lloyd replied. "It's the only region where similar incidents continue appearing with any regularity."

Jeremiah straightened.

"Then Africa it is."

"Not so fast, Jemmie."

Jeremiah paused.

"The region is effectively closed," Lloyd continued. "The U.R.E. is only allowing approved observers into the affected territories."

"Then send me in as an observer."

Lloyd stared at him.

"I somehow doubt the U.F.N. sending in the former Knight of the Tyrant Emperor would inspire confidence."

Jeremiah frowned.

"You were present at Lelouch's death," Lloyd continued. "More importantly, you were visibly attempting to prevent it. In front of the entire world, I might add."

"I suppose I cannot dispute that, Sir Lloyd."

"Fortunately…"

Lloyd's smile widened.

"…there may be another option."

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

Lloyd tilted his head.

"Tell me, Jemmie. Do you miss the Siegfried?"

"The United Federation of Nations has formally rejected calls for the deployment of Black Knight forces in response to the ongoing internal unrest within the United Republic of Europia.

"In a joint statement issued earlier today, the U.F.N. and the Black Knights reaffirmed that the organization's mandate is limited to international security and disputes between member states. The statement stressed that Black Knight forces are not authorized to intervene in the domestic affairs of a sovereign U.F.N. member.

"Zero has yet to comment publicly on the decision.

"The U.F.N. has, however, approved the deployment of neutral, non-state security personnel to the affected regions for the protection of critical infrastructure, humanitarian corridors, and other designated civilian sites."

Jeremiah watched the report from the cockpit of his newly rebuilt Siegfried.

Lloyd had reconstructed the machine almost entirely from the ground up. It now surpassed both the original Siegfried and the Sutherland Sieg in performance.

As Jeremiah moved through the system menus, he felt a familiar excitement return.

After Lelouch's death, he had given up the life of a soldier. Failing to protect Marianne had haunted him for years; failing Lelouch as well had made returning to battle feel almost shameful.

Clearly, the instinct had never left him.

His hands moved over the controls with the same familiarity as ever, and he could not deny the small thrill of being back inside a cockpit.

A secondary screen suddenly lit up with an incoming call.

A young woman appeared.

"Jeremiah, are you coming back?"

"Oh, my dear Anya. I apologise. It has been quite some time since I left, but I promise I shall return."

"Okay, just checking. Where are you?"

"Right now, I am in the U.R.E. provinces of Africa."

"To do what?"

"Mercenary work."

"You should have called me. I want to do mercenary work."

"Indeed. Please forgive me for allowing it to escape my mind. I had no intention of excluding you."

"Okay. I'll see you there."

"Of cour—wait, what?"

The screen turned off.

Oh well, Jeremiah told himself. He would cross that bridge when he came to it.

"We're approaching Pointe-Muanda. We should be ready to disembark shortly," a voice announced over the radio.

Jeremiah switched on the external sensors and was immediately greeted by multiple balls of light streaking across the distance. Before he could identify them, they began raining down upon the airstrip's defences.

"We're coming under fire! I repeat, we're coming under fire! All Knightmares, prepare to deploy! All personnel on deck!"

Jeremiah tensed with excitement. His hands moved across the controls almost before his mind had finished giving the commands.

Then he stopped.

For the briefest moment, he simply stared ahead.

A short breath escaped him.

The next instant, the Siegfried shot from the holding bay.

It operated just as smoothly as he remembered—no, perhaps even more smoothly. Every movement followed his intent almost perfectly.

Incoming fire streaked toward him.

Jeremiah twisted through it with ease, slipping past the anti-aircraft barrage and climbing into the sky above the city. Only a handful of enemy Knightmares rose to meet him.

They did not last long.

His Harkens tore through them one after another.

"Agent 272, destroy those anti-aircraft positions so we can make our approach!" the radio barked.

Jeremiah glided through the sky as the guns desperately tried to track him. One by one, he eliminated them.

A few minutes later, the firing stopped.

The battle was over.

---

Jeremiah stood guard on the docks as the transport finally made port. Smoke still drifted over parts of the city, and several of the anti-aircraft positions he had destroyed were still burning in the distance.

As his new colleagues disembarked, more than a few stopped to congratulate him, offering praise and thanks for what had been a remarkably easy victory.

Amid the congratulations, Jeremiah heard the same question passing between them, one he had already begun asking himself.

Why had they been attacked at all?

Pointe-Muanda was supposed to be under U.R.E. control. At least, that was what they had been told. They had barely entered the port before being met by anti-aircraft fire and enemy Knightmares.

If the government could not even guarantee control of one of its key ports, then how much authority did it really have here?

"Agent 272."

Jeremiah turned as his commander approached.

"The recommendation the U.F.N. gave us was an understatement. You really are something."

"Thank you, Commander. But if I may ask, what exactly is happening here? Isn't the city supposed to be a safe zone under U.R.E. control?"

"It was. According to the local government, it still is." The commander glanced toward the smoke rising beyond the docks. "Something I intend to ask them about myself. Care to come along?"

"It would be beyond me to refuse a commanding officer. Let us make haste."

The city was bustling with life, carrying on with a normalcy Jeremiah had seen battle-hardened veterans struggle to regain after a fight.

Jeremiah looked around in surprise.

It lacked the visual trauma of war that had become so common across Nippon and Britannia. Stranger still, it lacked the scars. Other than the damage from the attack they had just repelled, there were hardly any traces of fighting at all.

Odd for a city that clearly had a strong insurgent presence.

Eventually, they reached the local government building. It was a beautiful old structure from another time, standing in sharp contrast to the rest of the city, where almost everything looked as though it had been built for pure utility at the lowest possible cost.

A man in a plain black suit greeted them outside. He looked no different from any of the diplomats Jeremiah had seen wandering the halls of the U.F.N.

"Please, follow me."

He led them inside and up to his office.

"What's going on here?" the commander demanded.

"Ah, yes. I expect you want to know about being shot at."

"No, I was asking about things to do in the city, you absolute fool."

The official blinked.

"Apologies. Sometimes terrorism gets out of hand, you know?"

"I have run many anti-terrorist operations in my time," Jeremiah cut in. "It is true that smaller details can sometimes be overlooked. But multiple anti-aircraft guns positioned inside the city, alongside several Knightmare Frames? Those are not details."

"Look, the truth is we don't have the power to keep them out. If they decide to set up an anti-aircraft gun somewhere, there's very little we can do about it." The man gestured around the room. "Look at this building. I have two men with pistols guarding it. What exactly do you expect from us?"

"A warning, at the very least," the commander said.

"I didn't know."

"How? It was rather difficult for us not to notice."

The official glanced toward the hallway, then quietly shut the door behind him.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

"Look, the situation here is far worse than you think. We pay local militias so they won't attack the city. Half the personnel in this town hall are probably spies. All I can do is sit behind this desk, hope nothing happens, and pray I'm transferred or retired before somebody decides to kill me."

He gave a tired glance around his office.

"My job is basically to exist so the U.R.E. can tell the rest of the world it still has a presence here."

The commander let out a long sigh.

"This is far worse than I expected."

"Indeed, Commander," Jeremiah said. "It appears this province has already fallen. What shall we do next?"

"We're still being paid for a job. We proceed inland." The commander turned toward the door. "I'll negotiate a premium with our employers."

"You got it, Commander."

Jeremiah saluted.

He was enjoying this far more than he cared to admit. Taking orders, deploying with a unit, even addressing someone else as his commanding officer—it almost felt as though he were playing soldier again.

---

As they left the city behind, the reason Muanda had seemed so strangely untouched became increasingly clear.

The payments had been enough to keep the urban core safe. Beyond the outskirts, they meant nothing.

By the time the convoy reached the first town, the scars of battle were everywhere. Bullet holes covered walls and storefronts. Shrapnel had torn chunks from the roads and buildings, while old, dark bloodstains marked the places where bodies had once lain.

Children played among it all, laughing and chasing one another through the wreckage as though there were nothing unusual about it. They had clearly grown accustomed to their surroundings.

Jeremiah suspected the same was true of anyone from Muanda who had ever ventured beyond the city limits.

At the edge of another town, several men stepped into the road and brought the convoy to a halt. They wore local police uniforms, though their manner suggested the title meant little.

The commander exchanged a few words with them, passed over some money, and the convoy was waved through.

This town was different.

Here, the fighting had only just ended.

Bodies still lay where they had fallen. Blood ran fresh across the road, and several younger officers were dragging the dead together into a pile, presumably to be burned.

"Never hire a local to police his own," the commander remarked.

"Why?" one of the recruits asked.

"Because you never know why they wanted that power in the first place."

The convoy continued inland.

Eventually, the city of Kikadulu appeared ahead of them.

The city Jeremiah had come to find.

Like Pointe-Muanda, Kikadulu bore far fewer scars than the towns around it.

"Whatever scheme the local government has concocted, it seems to have allowed them to keep their urban economy somewhat intact," the commander remarked. "Cracks must be appearing if they're calling on us, though."

Another man in a suit gestured ahead.

"Looks like we won't need to go looking for them this time."

"Dear Commander, sir. Would you mind if I got a feel for the surroundings? I would like to go out and explore the city. Get an idea of what issues we may face."

"All right, just don't cause any trouble."

"Of course, Commander. I would never!"

The commander did not look reassured as he watched Jeremiah check his gun for bullets.

---

The city was far denser than the towns they had passed through on the way inland. Concrete buildings crowded both sides of the street, many of them ten storeys high or more. Whatever paint had once covered their facades had long since peeled away, leaving the walls stained brown by dust, dirt, and years beneath the sun.

The streets were little better. They did not need bullet holes or shrapnel to be broken apart; simple neglect had done enough. Cracks and potholes covered the road, the result of maintenance having been put off for some other time.

Jeremiah eventually stopped beside a small stall piled with oranges.

"Excuse me, kind sir. Could you tell me where one might find a large gathering of people around here?"

The vendor looked him over, coughed, then silently held out his hand.

Jeremiah paused.

"Oh. But of course."

He placed several bills into the man's palm.

The vendor pocketed them and pointed farther down the street.

"Thank you."

Jeremiah had already started walking away when the man called after him.

"Wait."

Jeremiah turned.

The vendor gestured toward the cart.

"Have an orange, Monsieur."

Jeremiah looked at him for a moment, then reached down and selected one.

"Much appreciated."

Following the vendor's directions, Jeremiah soon found himself overlooking a sprawling market.

And it was certainly not a small one.

Shops and stalls stretched as far as he could see, packed tightly together beneath awnings and sheets of canvas. Hawkers shouted over one another, food cooked over open flames, dice rattled across gambling tables, and even weapons were openly displayed for sale. Whatever someone wanted, there was a good chance they could find it here.

Which would have been excellent if Jeremiah had come to shop.

Instead, he stood at the edge of it all, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stared down at what seemed like miles of market.

"Where should I even begin?"

Trying to search the place himself would take days.

Jeremiah lowered his hand.

"If there is no practical way for me to find them, then I suppose I shall have to let them find me."

He approached a stall selling paper and art supplies and purchased a small stack of sheets. On each one, he carefully drew the Geass sigil.

Then he began making his way through the market.

Whenever a shop seemed likely to attract the right sort of clientele, Jeremiah handed over one of the drawings along with some money.

"If anyone recognises this symbol, tell them I will be waiting at the tea shop at the bottom of the market."

He avoided the more respectable establishments and concentrated instead on antique dealers, weapons merchants, expensive restaurants, and anywhere else that looked likely to attract people with money, influence, or business they preferred to keep away from official attention.

If the Congregation had connections in Kikadulu, sooner or later someone would recognise the symbol.

Jeremiah only needed that person to become curious enough to find him.

Hours passed, the monotony broken only by the occasional mobile seller approaching Jeremiah with watches, cigarettes, jewellery, food, and whatever else they could carry through the market.

As the sun began to sink behind the buildings, he decided to order one final drink.

If nothing happened by the time he finished it, he would try again tomorrow.

He had barely settled in when a deep voice called out from behind him.

"Mista Orange."

Jeremiah immediately straightened. Whether his spirits had lifted because his plan had finally worked or because someone had called him Mister Orange again, even he could not quite tell.

"Oh? You know me?"

He turned.

Standing behind him was a behemoth of a man, easily two metres tall. He wore a navy-blue pinstriped Italian suit, perfectly tailored despite his enormous frame, with a bright red military beret resting on his head. His dark complexion and local accent stood in sharp contrast to the European cut of his clothes.

The man let out a deep, booming laugh.

"Of course I know you! The Knight of the Tyrant Emperor. Every man who follows the way of the warrior knows the famous orange."

"You flatter me. May I know your name?"

"My name?"

The smile disappeared from the man's face.

"You come into my place, and you do not even know my name? Eh?"

His voice began to rise.

Jeremiah glanced around the restaurant.

Conversations had stopped. Patrons and employees alike were now watching them.

The giant spread his arms.

"MY PEOPLE! TELL DIS MAN WHO I AM!"

The restaurant answered as one.

"VENERABLE GÉNÉRAL DEGUERRE!"

"NON!"

Deguerre struck a hand against his chest.

"TELL HIM WHO I AM!"

The response came louder this time.

"GÉNÉRAL DEGUERRE! LIBERATOR OF THE NDULU PEOPLE! CHIEF WARRIOR OF THE CENTRAL AFRICAN PROVINCES! THE AFRICAN SPEAR OF THE U.R.E.! FATHER OF THE NDULU NATION!"

Deguerre grinned.

"AND WHAT IS MY PURPOSE?"

"TO FIGHT!"

Only then did his voice fall back to its normal depth.

"Indeed, Mista Orange."

He stepped closer.

"To be a warrior, one must fight. Dis you understand, yes?"

Jeremiah said nothing.

"The U.R.E., they send us to fight. They call us warriors when they need the blood spilled. Den afterward they tell us, 'No more'? Non."

Deguerre slowly shook his head.

"We refuse."

He tapped a fist against his chest.

"If we do not fight, what are we? The bull must be allowed its scars, and my people shall earn each one of dem."

His eyes began to glow.

"Now show me, Mista Orange. Show me the warrior inside of you."

The Geass sigil appeared.

Jeremiah jumped back in surprise.

But before he could activate his Geass Canceller, patrons surged toward him.

An elderly woman beside him drew a knife from beneath her clothing and slashed toward his throat. Jeremiah barely twisted out of the way before kicking her into the wall.

A man seized him from behind, locking an arm around his neck.

Another employee rushed toward him with a knife aimed at his stomach.

Jeremiah tore himself free, but more were already coming.

With no other option, he drew his pistol and fired.

The approaching man dropped instantly.

But not a single person flinched. They continued throwing themselves at Jeremiah without hesitation. What should have ended the fight on the spot had become nothing more than background noise.

Deguerre watched from the doorway, laughing.

"Ah! Very good, Mista Orange! Very good!"

Jeremiah caught another attacker by the wrist and threw him across a table.

"As much as I'm enjoying this, Mister Deguerre, could you tell me the purpose?"

Deguerre backed out into the street.

"If you survive, Mista Orange, den we speak again."

He spread his arms once more.

"Until den!"

His laughter followed him out into the night.

Jeremiah activated his Geass Canceller.

As the red glow faded from their eyes, panic returned. Their movements became less certain. One man lunged at him, only to jump back the instant Jeremiah moved to strike, while several others stared at the body lying on the floor.

But the fight was not over. Fear now showed in their movements, yet they still obeyed Deguerre's command. Whatever Geass he had used, it was not the same as Lelouch's. Their loyalty had not disappeared with it.

Jeremiah wasted no more time. A few swift strikes sent those nearest to him sprawling, and he rushed through the doorway.

Outside, the market was fading into darkness. Jeremiah looked frantically in both directions, but all he saw were merchants closing their stalls and crowds moving through the narrow streets.

Deguerre was gone.

Cornelia sat at her desk, signing and stamping documents.

Every time she finished one stack, another seemed to appear in its place. Her signature became less detailed with each page, while the stamp came down harder and harder until—

"ENOUGH!"

Her shout echoed through the office.

Almost immediately, a voice came through the intercom on her desk.

"Is everything all right, my lady?"

"Yes, Guilford. There is no need to worry," she sighed.

"Are you sure, my lady—"

Cornelia switched him off.

She leaned back in her chair and looked again at the photographs scattered among the paperwork. They were all images from recent operations: soldiers on patrol, platoons posing in front of their Knightmare Frames, satellite imagery of suspected terrorist activity.

She stared at them a bit longer before pressing another button on the intercom.

"Hello?" Lloyd answered.

"Lloyd, I need to ask you something."

"Oh? What might that be?"

"Our guest from earlier. Did he mention anything suspicious?"

"Not particularly. Though I suppose looking for Geass activity is suspicious enough on its own."

Cornelia paused.

C.C. searching for information about Geass would hardly be unusual. But why involve Jeremiah? Why had she chosen to rely on him, and why had he agreed so readily?

"Tell me more."

"There isn't much more to say. He looked through reports concerning possible Geass activity, then left for Africa."

"Africa?"

"Yes. It seems to be the only region where activity unrelated to the Order has continued for any significant length of time."

Cornelia stared at the photographs again.

"Thank you, Lloyd. That's all."

She shut off the intercom, waited a moment, then called Guilford again.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Contact the chairwoman. Tell her we will be leaving for Africa."

There was a pause.

"Africa? But, my lady, we still have a considerable amount of work to finish here. We don't have the time to—"

"When has paperwork ever solved anything?" Cornelia cut in. "One day in the field will do more good than a thousand stamps."

"I suppose there is little point in trying to dissuade you, my lady. I'll take the necessary measures. Please don't do anything hasty until then."

Cornelia looked down at the mountain of paperwork still waiting for her.

"Just... hurry, Guilford," she said, a faint strain in her voice.

---

C.C. held 0-1's arms above her head as she pulled a jumper down over them.

"You see? You put it on this way. You wear it so you don't get cold."

"But why this way? Other way not change warmth?"

C.C. paused.

"That's just how it is. Society has rules you're expected to follow." She tugged the jumper into place. "At least in public."

"What society?"

C.C. sighed and glanced toward Lelouch.

"I could really use that annoying ability of yours to have an answer for everything."

0-1 tilted her head.

"Speaking of answers…"

C.C. picked up the phone and called Jeremiah.

"Sir Jeremiah, at your service, my lady!"

"Have you made any progress?" she asked, ignoring his usual theatrical formalities.

"Somewhat. A thread has brought me to Kikadulu, Africa. Where it may lead, however, only fate may tell us."

"Africa…"

The region was not entirely unfamiliar to C.C. For centuries, its more remote and unstable territories had provided convenient places for people to hide things they did not want the rest of the world to find.

A secretive Geass organisation would hardly be the first.

"That makes sense. I'll contact you when I get there."

"Of cour—wait, what about—"

C.C. ended the call.

Jeremiah stared at the blank screen.

"It seems everyone is eager to travel this time of year," he remarked, having no idea how true that was.

---

C.C. placed a bowl of cereal in front of 0-1.

"Thank you, Mom," 0-1 said.

C.C. went rigid.

"Do not call me that. I am not your mother."

"But you do what mom do."

0-1 pointed toward the television, where a woman had just placed a plate of food in front of her child. She glanced at the screen, then quickly back at 0-1.

"0-1... do you actually know what a mother is?"

"Woman that dress and give food?"

Her shoulders eased.

"It's a little more complicated than that."

"Then what?"

C.C. wanted to answer, but her mind stalled, just as her body had when 0-1 called her that. What is a mother?

Someone who loved you unconditionally? Someone who cared for a person they had taken responsibility for? Was it simply blood?

She didn't have time for this. There were other problems to worry about.

"Another time."

0-1 returned to her cereal as C.C. turned towards Lelouch.

"Now, how exactly am I supposed to get you to Africa of all places?"

She called Jeremiah back.

"Jeremiah, get us to Africa."

"That is what I was going to enquire about before you hung up, Miss C.C."

"Can you do it?"

"With sufficient will and effort, nothing is impossible for Jeremiah Gottwald!"

"Great. I'll see you soon."

C.C. hung up and glanced at 0-1. What was she supposed to do with her? Getting Lelouch into Africa would already be difficult enough without bringing a child along as well.

Then again, who could she possibly leave her with?

---

"Agent 272!" a voice called out.

"How may I be of service?" Jeremiah replied as he climbed out of the Siegfried.

He brightened when he saw who was approaching. "Oh, Commander. Just the person I wanted to see."

"What is it, 272?"

"Do you perhaps have some means of bringing things into Africa?"

"You mean logistics? Sure. Tell me what you need and we can have it brought in with the next resupply."

"No, I need certain... things brought here," Jeremiah replied. "Preferably discreetly."

The commander looked at him for a moment.

"Does this have anything to do with your disappearance yesterday?"

"I cannot say."

"Fine." The commander sighed. "Just deny I had anything to do with it if you get caught. It won't be cheap, but I can arrange for an unmarked package to come in with the next resupply."

"How large can the package be?"

"How large does it need to be?"

"A few people, at least."

The commander raised an eyebrow.

"What on ear—" He stopped himself. "You know what? I don't want to know."

He took out a piece of paper, scribbled down a set of coordinates, and handed it to Jeremiah.

"Have whatever you need sent to this location in three days. Now get moving. Our next mission is about to start."

"You got it, Commander."

Jeremiah quickly climbed back into the Siegfried. Before setting off, he sent the coordinates to C.C.

"So what's the brief, Commander?" a voice asked over the radio.

"We'll be protecting a shipment of heavy equipment on its way to the mines. Once we get there, we're expected to secure the site and provide training to the locals."

"Training the locals? Isn't that a violation of international law?"

"Not if they become our employees."

"That sounds rather simple," Jeremiah remarked.

"What can I say? Make something annoying enough to prosecute and the powers that be usually won't bother. That's how international law has always worked."

"Hm. Glad I never had to concern myself with such nonsense."

"Things were certainly simpler under Charles."

"Oh? Did you fight in his wars as well?"

"Yeah. I led the assault into the southern provinces, actually."

"Eastern Front," another soldier added.

A third voice came over the radio. "Area 11."

Jeremiah paused.

"Is everyone here a former Britannian soldier?"

"No," another man replied. "I'm from the U.R.E."

"Chinese Federation," added someone else.

Jeremiah chuckled. "As international as the Black Knights themselves. Why not simply join them?"

"Limited opportunities when the whole world only has one real military force," one of the soldiers answered. "There aren't many other places to take these skills."

"Was that your reason as well, Commander?"

"No."

Jeremiah waited.

"I just didn't want to be tied to the Black Knights."

That interested Jeremiah.

He was about to press him further when gunfire tore across the convoy.

The commander ordered everyone into defensive positions. If the shipment was hit, the mission was over.

"MISTA ORANGE!" came Deguerre's voice over the enemy machine's loudspeaker. "Leaving so soon? Did you not want to talk?"

"Ah, mon cher Deguerre. Was it not you who abandoned me yesterday evening?"

Deguerre let out a hearty laugh. "You are right! My skills as a host are lacking. But as you say, duty was calling. I am here now, so let us talk, not only with our mouths, but with the machines too!"

Jeremiah did not need to be told twice.

"Commander, I'll leave the rear to you. This machine is far more effective on the offensive."

"You got it, 272."

Jeremiah eagerly flew forward, his Harkens already shooting towards Deguerre's machine. To his surprise, they were knocked aside almost immediately.

Jeremiah grinned.

"Oh-ho! So you're more than talk."

"Merely talk? Hah! It seems I must teach you something about the Ndulu!"

"Come then. Let class begin!"

Jeremiah closed the distance, increasingly pleased to have finally found an opponent who might actually challenge him.

"When Europia first came to us, centuries ago—" Deguerre began.

"That was metaphorical," Jeremiah tried to explain.

Between the clash of their machines and the passion of his own lecture, Deguerre either did not hear him or simply did not care.

"Dey came to our land, and you know what dey did?"

"What did they do?"

Jeremiah pulled the Siegfried aside as Deguerre's axe swept past him.

"They bought from us!"

"Is that all?"

Gunfire tore through the space between them.

"Dey bought people. Gold. Jewels. The products of our wars. The fruits of the warrior's labour."

"Oh."

"Den Dey came with weapons. Dey came for battle!"

Jeremiah narrowly avoided another swing of the axe.

"And you fight because you resent that?"

"What kind of pathetic man do you think I am?"

Deguerre opened fire. Jeremiah twisted away as bullets hammered through the ground behind him.

"Dey defeated us, yes, but Dey defeated us as warriors. Their spirit was admirable! Den afterward they tell us, 'You cannot sell people anymore. You cannot go to battle whenever you please.'"

"Oh. So that was the problem?"

"Non! At first, we hated Dem for the hypocrisy. Dey bought the people we captured, den told us selling men was immoral. Dey invaded us, Den told us attacking our neighbours was for the barbarians."

A Knightmare exploded nearby, briefly drowning out the fight.

"But eventually we understood something. Dey too were a warrior people! Their conquest may have forced our land to submit, but it did not break our warrior spirit. Instead, dey gave us battlefields we could never have imagined from our homes."

"Now that," Jeremiah replied, "I can relate to."

"But look at dem today!"

Deguerre's machine drove forward again.

"Dey have lost their warrior spirit. A pathetic people who pay others so dey will not be attacked. Dey have given even the choice to fight to the Black Knights. How can I respect such people?"

"Oh, so you do have issues with them."

Deguerre laughed.

"Tell me, Orange! I can feel the fight inside you. Your warrior spirit is strong! What do you think of this new world?"

Jeremiah deflected another attack.

"One could say I have other concerns at this particular moment."

Deguerre chuckled.

"Den forget the world for now! Let us enjoy this moment instead."

His Knightmare raised its weapon once more.

"Come, Mista Orange! Let your warrior spirit sing!"

The battle raged on. Deguerre proved himself capable of matching some of the best pilots Jeremiah had faced. He had not expected to find such an opponent deep within the savannah, and he was enjoying it far more than he should.

Suddenly, a call came through over the radio.

"Retreat, 272. Air strike in thirty seconds."

"Oh, how unfortunate," Jeremiah remarked as he pulled the Siegfried back.

Deguerre seemed to sense the danger as well, immediately retreating in the opposite direction. No sooner had they cleared the area than explosions began raining down from the sky, tearing through the remaining enemy Knightmare Frames.

"Well, Mista Orange, I must say dat was very enjoyable! Let us meet again."

"WAIT!" Jeremiah called out. "Where did you get your Geass?"

Deguerre burst into laughter.

"Impress me like dis again, and perhaps I will tell you."

His machine disappeared into the distance.

As the battlefield fell silent and the train resumed its journey, the commander contacted Jeremiah over the radio.

"Orange, huh?"

"Is that going to be an issue, dear Commander?"

"No. There's a reason we don't use real names here. Just keep up the good work."

"Sir, yes, sir," Jeremiah replied playfully.

A few minutes later, the mines came into view.