AN: I am incapable of writing short chapters. I apologise for this in advance. Plus, also I may have gotten Cornelia a little out of character, so for any hard-core Code Geass fans, I apologise for that. That out of the way: enjoy my foray into the world of Code Geass.

Routine. It's a simple thing, but many people swear by it.

Ciaran Forsyth was no exception. At twenty-one years old, the young Briton had gotten used to routine. Wake up, use the bathroom, breakfast, do whatever housework needed to be done, lunch, read a bit, then either go to work as a kitchen porter or make dinner, and spend the rest of the evening relaxing.

He was, in the best description, pretty average: five-foot-eight with a slightly stocky build, with dark brown hair, light green eyes and a good smattering of facial hair.

He wasn't unhappy with his life, but nor was he really happy either. His application to the army had fallen through and he'd not gotten anywhere with any other job applications he'd tried. None of his writings had been accepted, and he generally felt a little crappy. But the routine made him feel a bit better about his lot in life.

So it was, on a unremarkable (if overcast) Wednesday afternoon in late June, Ciaran made his way from his house to the nearest bus-stop, his work uniform carried in a dark green satchel. He wore a simple outfit: a pair of dark blue jeans, brown leather boots and a black Iron Maiden t-shirt. His feet carried him down the same path he had trodden many times before, a small path nestled between two houses leading to the main road.

His mind wandering, as it was wont to do on the walk to the bus-stop, he didn't notice it right away. It was only after he took another step that he noticed it: his footsteps echoed.

They never echoed before.

Stopping dead, Ciaran looked around. Gone was the simple red-brick walls and cement path he knew, and in it's stead was something more... grandiose, was the only word he knew that could be used to describe it. Tall, pane glass windows and high vaunted ceilings towered over a marble floors, and nearly every surface was painted opulent shades of purple, red and blue.

Turning several times, his mind racing in confusion, his eyes quickly settled on something: a maid, wearing a stereotypical maids outfit, carrying a silver tray.

"Uhh.." was all Ciaran managed to utter, "Hi?" An attempt at a grin coming to his face.

The maid dropped the tray, which sounded like a hammer striking an anvil, and quickly turned tail, hiking up her skirt as she ran, shrieking "Intruder!"

"Oh, shitting hell..." Ciaran muttered as he turned and began running. He didn't know where he was running to, but it seemed like the reasonable thing to to do given the situation.

He hadn't ran more than a couple hundred yards before a large door built into the wall burst open, through which half a dozen soldiers dressed in dark red uniforms filed out, each carrying a compact sub-machine gun, which was promptly aimed at him.

"Freeze!" One of them commanded.

Ciaran skidded to a halt, which unfortunately resulted in him tripping over his own ankle and landing on his chest with an 'oomph'.

Instantly, the soldiers were on him, pinning him to the floor. One of them pulled off his bag and began rifling through it, while two other's rifled through his pockets, pulling out his phone and wallet. Looking up, Ciaran watched one of the men talk into a hand-held radio.

"General, this is Sergeant Williams. We have apprehended an intruder in the west wing. Your orders?"

The man nodded his head at the other, unheard, voice's words before responding with a "Yes, general."

The sergeant put the radio away. "Pick him up. We're taking him to see the general."

At that, Ciaran felt himself be yanked up quickly, and a little too painfully for his liking, and proceeded to be made to walk down the long corridor under armed guard. After what felt like an eternity, the group stopped before a large set of wooden doors. Turning the handle, the sergeant opened the door before standing at attention.

"General Darlton, we have the intruder sir."

Craning his neck as best he could to see past the sergeant, Ciaran saw several other men in uniform, all gathered around a table, their previous work forgotten as they all stared intently at him. Each wore a maroon jacket, with cream cavalry trousers and black jackboots.

"Thank you, sergeant. I will take it from here." A deep, baritone voice spoke from the group. Ciaran couldn't help but let his eyes widen in shock as a giant of a man stepped forward from the group. He was tall, definitely taller than many others in the room, with a jacket a lighter shade of maroon than the others, but with more gold filigree on it. He had a square face, with light brown hair and black eyes, but it was the prominent scar that rand down from the right side of his forehead to just above the left side of his mouth that drew his attention.

The man stepped closer to Ciaran, his eyes seeming to scrutinize every part of his body before moving to one of the soldiers.

"Did he have anything on him when you apprehended him?" He ordered.

"It's all in here, general." The soldier responded, handing the giant the satchel. Take it, he opened the zip and upended the contents of the back onto the floor. A black double-breasted jacket, black trousers, a leather wallet, mobile phone, an MP3 player and a set of keys fell to the floor.

"Not really what you'd expect a terrorist to have." The general mused quietly to himself, but loud enough for Ciaran to hear.

"Terrorist?" The young man asked, confused. "Wait a minute here, I'm no..."

An open palm collided with the back of his head.

"Shut it!" One of the soldiers barked.

Ignoring the commotion, the large man turned to face another of the similarly dressed officers. "Has the princess been informed?"

"Yes she has, General. And she's on her way as we speak." One of the men replied smartly.

As if on cue, a set of doors on the other side of the room opened, two figures walking in. One was a man, 'lanky' being one of the few words to describe him. He had long black hair tied back in a ponytail, with a pair of spectacles perched on his nose.

The other was a woman. And she definitely stood out. Shorter than the man with the pony tail, and standing round about the same height as Ciaran, she had a large head of dark pink, almost purple, hair which contrasted quite well with her maroon jacket and trousers. A pair of white boots, a white cravat and cloak instantly told Ciaran that this was the princess mentioned.

"Oh, balls..." Ciaran quietly muttered to himself as the woman strode towards him.

The princess came to a halt before the assembled officers, who all bowed at her presence. She paid them no mind however as she locked eyes with Ciaran, who felt like he was shrinking under her hawk-like gaze.

"General Darlton, report." She said finally, turning to face the giant of an officer.

"Your highness, sergeant Williams here apprehended the prisoner in the west wing of palace. We've also gone through what personal affects he had," gesturing at the pile on the floor, "and so far... we don't really know what to make of him, to be honest."

If the woman was displeased, she didn't show as she simply nodded and used one of her feet to rifle through the pile. Bending down she picked up the double-breasted jacket and turned to look at the prisoner.

"Interesting uniform. For a terrorist."

"With all due respect... your highness?" he looked at the general, who only nodded at the honorific, before carrying on "your highness, as I tried to say before, I'm not a terrorist. I don't even know where I am. In fact I should have been in work... ten minutes ago." He looked at his watch. "I think." Thinking quickly, Ciaran took off his watch and tossed it onto the pile.

"What's your name?" The woman asked, ignoring his previous statement.

"My name?"

"Don't play stupid, boy." The man with glasses said coldly. "Answer the princesses question."

"Ciaran. My name is Ciaran." The young man said hastily.

Cornelia waved her hand, palm up in front of her. "Just Ciaran, or do you have a last name?"

"Forsyth. My name is Ciaran Forsyth." He replied, his tone getting more than little panicky. "Okay, look. I have no idea where I am or why I'm here. Now, I will cooperate with you people fully, if it means there's some way of getting home. Is that all right?"

The purple-haired woman let a thin smile come to her face at that. "Glad to hear it. Take him to the interrogation room." She directed the last part of the sentence at the group of guards.

Before he could react, Ciaran felt himself being jerked backwards and made to walk down the same corridor. Before long, they approached an elevator built into a recession in the wall, which one of the guards opened with a key-card. Without much pain, Ciaran was bustled into the elevator with two of the guards, as one of them pressed a button for the basement.

They descended in silence before they reached their stop, Ciaran being shoved roughly out of the elevator into a stark white corridor. They walked in silence, with the occasional shove by the barrel of sub-machine gun as a motivator to keep moving, until they came to a very ominous looking steel door. The soldiers deposited their guns in a recession built into the wall before one of them opened the door with a screech of metal on metal.

"Get in." One of them said, followed by a rough push, as Ciaran was forced into the room. Making his way in, his eyes focused on the furniture: two chairs and a table, as the door was closed with a resounding clang.

"Sit." One of the guards said, pointing at the chair, which the young man promptly sat in.

A few seconds later, one of the pair produced a pair of cuffs which tightly bound his wrists.

"Now then," the other guard said, as he pushed the second chair to the side of the room, placing his knuckles on the table. "You and me. We're gonna have a little chat."

Ciaran swallowed at the smile on the man's face, which reminded him far too much of a piranha.

The barely muffled sound of fist impacting on flesh and bone and grunts and gasps of pain came through the two-way mirror as princess Cornelia watched the interrogation under way.

Although, to call it an 'interrogation' would be stretching the truth at best and an outright lie at worst.

The interrogators, two men of Clovis' old royal guard, were giving what could only be described as near unilateral beat-down on the poor soul in the other room.

It had started as an interrogation: they asked him who he was, why he was here and, most importantly, if he was Zero. Of course the boy answered them and, in the case of the latter question, answered them that, no, he wasn't Zero. That was what made the situation go from bad worse for the stranger.

She had watched them do the basics at first: slap him across the face when he said no, then ask the same question again. It carried on until one of the pair grabbed him on the back of the head and slam his forehead into the table, screaming into his ear that he was lying. Then it just devolved into nothing more than two thugs beating on an innocent person.

Cornelia watched with the same stoicism that she was famed for, but underneath her closed lips, she was grinding her teeth. Her two companions didn't seem to have any trouble showing their distaste. Darlton, standing on her left, glowered at the two men, his fists balled in anger and his large frame seemed to shake with barely constrained rage, while Guilford to her right, closed his eyes and looked away, trying to block out the spectacle playing before them.

They weren't any strangers to forceful interrogations. Lord knows that Cornelia had used them herself in the past, but with her it had more of a surgical precision to it: always leave a glimmer of hope for the poor soul to grasp to, then she'd get some sure answers.

But these men. They just wanted to hurt him. They had stopped asking him questions and were now just punching him repeatedly.

A crash from the room drew the trios attention as they watched the boy be thrown to collide solidly with the two-way mirror. The back of his head connected hard with the glass before he slid slowly down, the top of his head remaining just in view.

"This isn't working," said one of the crimsons clothed guards, "He's not talking."

"Get the cattle-prod." Said the other, matter-of-factly, as he stepped towards the slumped body, a malicious grin starting to form on his face.

That quickly snapped Cornelia into life as her hand darted forward and pressed the intercom button.

"Stop!" she roared through the comlink, "That's enough. Both of you: leave the prisoner alone and get outside. Now!"

The guards stood, stunned at the quick outburst before responding with "Yes, your highness." and quickly leaving the room.

Darlton let out a ragged breath as he slumped forward, resting one of his arms against the glass.

"Damn animals." The scarred general said, as his breathing returned to normal.

"Agreed." Guilford quipped, "I was almost afraid you'd burst through the glass and beat the two men down yourself, general."

Darlton didn't say anything as he pulled himself back to stand at his full height, his body finally overcoming the pent-up rage within

"I think it's safe to say he's not Zero," he finally said, his deep baritone voice filling the small room.

"How do you know that?" Cornelia quickly said, turning to look at the man.

He just shrugged. "Call it a hunch." Darlton replied, a smile twisting the scar on his face.

"Either way, we should check on the prisoner. Make sure he's still alive." Guilford said quickly, to which the other two agreed.

Walking out of the room, Darlton first, followed by Cornelia and Guildford, the two made their way to the door to the interrogation room. Outside stood the two men from Clovis' royal guard. Looking down, Cornelia saw their gloves were flecked with the prisoners blood.

"Your highness, please," began one of the duo, "If you just give us more time, we can..."

"You can what?" Cornelia snapped, interrupting the man, "Kill him? Get a forced confession? Send an innocent man to his death?"

"But your highness, Zero.." began the other, before he too was interrupted.

"I know about Zero. Zero is a murderer, a terrorist and a criminal. I know he could be anyone. But I will find out for myself is this man is the animal who killed my brother. Is that understood?"

"Yes, your highness." The men replied, bowing their heads.

"You two will return to quarters until I tell you otherwise," Cornelia made to enter the door before she stopped, "And wash your bloody uniforms."

After watching the guards briskly walk off, Cornelia placed her hand on the door-handle. Turning, she looked at her knight.

"Guilford, I want to go and get some water and a towel. Also get a medical kit and the injection. I want to make sure this man lives, but also that he answers my questions."

"By your command, my lady" the spectacled knight said, bowing his head before speedily walking off.

Facing the door, Cornelia spoke up again, more softly this time. "Do you really think this man isn't Zero, Darlton?"

There was silence for the briefest of moments before Darlton replied. "I do your highness."

"Then let's go find out." Cornelia said, pushing open the door.

Entering through the door, Darlton made a sound that could only be described as a snort of anger at the condition of the room. The two chairs in the room were flung aside, and the centre of the small table had a large blood splatter in the middle. The white floors were flecked with blood, and a small amount of blood could be seen on the glass.

Quickly, his eyes settled on the slumped shape of the prisoner, his back up against the wall, his head bowed and his eyes closed. Covering the distance quickly, he gently lifted the boys face up, his fingers settling on his neck, searching for a pulse. A small smile came to his face when he felt a weak, but sure pulse.

"Is he alive?" Cornelia asked.

"It's weak, but it's there." Darlton replied, as he heard the princess pick up and move the fallen chairs into place.

Picking the boy up, Darlton sucked in air through his nose as he saw the damage inflicted. The prisoners nose had been broken several times, several cuts on his lips and the making of serious bruising to his right eye. Blood trickled slowly down from his forehead to his nose. Darlton could only guess what kind of damage he had underneath his black t-shirt.

"Can you hear me?" He asked softly, hoping the boy still was conscious. "Hey. Can you hear me?"

The prisoners eyes opened, although his right could only open partway, and focused on the general.

"P-please," The prisoner muttered quietly, "No-no more. I'm not..."

Darlton quickly shushed the boy. "It's all right. We know." Slowly, we walked the boy forward to sit down at one of the chairs, just as Guilford walked in, carrying a bowl of water and a towel in his left hand and a first-aid kit in his right.

Guilford stopped in his tracks when he saw the boy, his eyes opening in shock, before looking at Cornelia, who was seated opposite the prisoner, on what to do. She responded by nodding her head at the table, on which the knight put the requested items down on.

Leaning forward, Cornelia locked her hands together on the tabletop, speaking softly.

"Mr Forsyth, can you hear me?"

The prisoner nodded slowly.

"Good. Now I want to say this first: no-one here is going to hurt you. My subordinate is going to clean your injuries and then we'll just have a quiet talk."

The prisoner was silent for a moment, his posture still slumped back in the chair. Slowly, the boy nodded his head. In return, Cornelia looked at Darlton who, with a quick nod of his head, took the first aid kit from Guilford and began tending to the prisoner's wounds. Working quickly, the general carefully cleaned the wounds: applying a cold compress to his injured eye, wiping the blood from his head before binding it with a string of gauze, and treating the other facial injuries with a mix of anti-biotic cream and plasters. When he was done, he gave the boy a small squeeze on his shoulder and a quick smile before taking his place next to the wall.

During this, Guilford had wiped down the table as best he could with the towel, managing to get rid of most of the blood. His job finished, he placed the bowl and towel under the table and took his place to the right of Cornelia's back.

"Now, Mr Forsyth, do you think you're able to talk?" The princess asked, resting her arms on the newly cleaned table.

"I am." The stranger replied curtly.

"Right. I'm not going to bother asking you the same questions you were asked before, since we heard your answers to them and they were all the same. So I'm going ask you different questions. Do you understand?"

Another nod, followed by "Yes, ma'am."

"Right. First: do you know where you are?"

The prisoner looked quizzical for a second, his uncovered eye roaming back and forth across the table as if reading some piece of text that only he could see.

"One of the... others in here before mentioned 'Shinjuku'. But... that's in Japan."

"Correct. To an extent." Cornelia said bluntly.

"To an extent? What do you mean, 'to an extent'?" The prisoner asked quickly.

"It means that Japan does not exist as geopolitical entity."

The dark haired prisoner just stared at the princess, his mouth open slightly in confusion before he finally and simply said, "What?"

Cornelia exchange a confused glance with Guilford and Darlton.

"So... you don't know about the One Month War?"

The prisoner shook his head "No."

"Area 11?" Guilford asked.

"No."

"The Holy Britannian Empire?" Asked Darlton.

Another shake of the head.

Sighing, Cornelia leaned forward. "Let's try this another way. Where are you from?"

"Wales." The prisoner answered.

"And that's in Great Britain, correct?" Cornelia asked.

"Yes. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland."

This time it was Cornelia's turn to look confused, while Darlton and Guilford exchanged a look.

"Uh..." the prisoner spoke up, feeling the tension, "Do you have a world map?"

It took what felt like the better part of an hour after Guilford had gone to fetch the map, but in the end, with no small help from Cornelia and her companions, Ciaran finally had a general grasp on what had happened.

Although to say he wasn't still confused would be an understatement though, since he currently had his head resting on the table, slowly rolling it from side to side.

"You'll forgive me if this is a bit much to take in, ma'am," Ciaran said, his head resting on it's left side, "but this is... it's a bit of a jolt to the system."

Cornelia couldn't help but nod in response, having listened to the young man telling her about his own time and place.

"If I was in your position, I think I'd have gone mad." She said with a light chuckle as she crossed her long legs. She had shed her more regal cap, which Guilford held draped over one of his forearms. Her attitude had lightened during the last couple of hours from talking to the young man.

"Well, I've found that a little bit of madness isn't really a bad thing." The young man said with a chuckle while he stretched his arms out above his head.

Cornelia gave a small smile which quickly fell from her face, replaced by a stoic mask.

"Mr Forsyth, I thank you for your cooperation."

"And you're welcome to it," the prisoner said, a smile still gracing his face, the injuries and beating forgotten.

"Hmm. But still, as you are probably aware, we've got a terrorist problem. And you are an unknown entity."

Ciaran's back stood rigid, the smile slowly disappearing from his face. The purple-haired woman before him was no longer jovial. Her voice was cold and businesslike.

"Okay?"

"So you understand that unless we truly know whether you are Zero, then you're a danger." She made to stand up, shifting her legs back to their original position. But the sound of metal scraping on tiles and the clatter of a falling metal chair got her attention as, looking up, she saw Ciaran backing away from her, fear plain on his face, like she was a predator.

"Oh, please. Not again. I've given my full cooperation." He said, his voice laden with panic. His eyes shot between the princess and the two others in the room. Guilford had moved forward to replace his lady's cloak, while Darlton took a few tentative steps forward, his hands raised in a placating manner.

"Ciaran, relax," he said calmly, "No-one's going to hurt you here."

It clearly didn't do much for the young man's panic, as he slowly backed himself towards the corner of the room.

"He's right, Mr Forsyth," Cornelia said, as she stood behind the table, her arms crossed over her chest. "The information we want from you won't involve us hurting you."

Ciaran swallowed, fear still plain on his face, but the admission from the princess got him to stop his retreat.

"Do you promise?" He said quickly, his eyes still darting between the three occupants of the room.

"I promise." Cornelia said softly.

"Swear it!" Ciaran barked sharply, his fear replaced by rage.

Guilford took a step forward, a scowl on his face. "How dare you.." He began before a gloved hand across his chest checked his advance.

"I, Princess Cornelia li Britannia, second princess of the Holy Britannian Empire, do hereby swear that no-one in this room will cause you any further harm."

This got Ciaran to relax, lowering his arms to hang before his waist. His posture slumped slightly, but he still kept his eyes locked on the princess.

"All right then." He said simply, walking forward. Cornelia nodded in response as her knight retrieved a slim, black case from his chest pocket and opened it, revealing a single hypodermic needle filled with an opaque liquid.

"This is a needle filled with sodium thiopental," Cornelia said, pulling the needle from it's case and giving the syringe a quick flick. "Do you know what that is?"

The prisoner gave the needle an apprehensive look. "A truth serum, if I remember correctly."

"Indeed. As I said before, I and my second-in-command have both agreed that you are not Zero, but we need to be truly sure."

Darlton took a firm grip on the prisoner's arm, keeping it in place while a piece of cotton wool was applied to the chosen spot on his arm by the princess' bespectacled knight. The princess strode forward, the needle poised in her hands, ready for the injection.

Getting closer, Darlton couldn't help but feel the slight tremble in the young man's arm.

"Scared of needles?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

"Hate more so than scared," Ciaran replied, swallowing again, "I just don't like how the needle feels."

The general couldn't help but let out a small chuckle as the liquid was emptied from the syringe into the prisoner's veins and his face slowly went slack.

The rest of the questioning went smoothly. Ciaran was placed back in the chair and asked about all the information that Cornelia knew about Zero: Shinjuku, Clovis, the Orange Incident, anything she could think of on Zero.

All were answered back in the negative.

After several minutes, Ciaran's entire body went slack as sleep took hold of him. Calling in a medical team, the young man's body was placed on a stretcher and covered in a blanket as he slept.

"Where should we take him, your majesty?" One of the medical orderlies asked.

Her arms still crossed, Cornelia drummed the fingers of her right hand on her biceps as she mulled the answers over in her mind.

"Put him in one of the spare rooms in the palace." Her tone brokered no argument as the two orderlies carried the stretcher-borne prisoner out of the room.

"Right in the palace?" Guilford asked, "Are you sure that's the best idea, your highness?"

"Are you questioning my decision, Guilford?" Cornelia asked back, her eyes narrowed before they softened slightly. "You say what happened to him before, Guilford. He may not be Britannian, but he's not some damn Eleven either. I'd hate to think about what would happen to him if we handed him over to the prison."

Guilford nodded in understanding.

"We'll keep him close, just to keep an eye on him for now. Give him time for his injuries to heal, then we'll see how it progresses from there."

Guilford bowed. "As you command, my lady."

Then, Cornelia rounded on Darlton, her cloak twirling behind her as she turned on the giant of a man.

"As for you, general. You vouched for the man, so he's your responsibility. Am I understood?"

Darlton stood ramrod straight, a smile playing over his face.

"As you command, your majesty."