Hi, all! Okay, I know I should really be focusing on my other fics, and I promise I'll have updates for them posted throughout the week, but I just had to put this out there.

Disclaimer: I do not own Code Geass in any way or form.

The focus of this story definitely isn't romance, but there will be some aspects of it throughout the fic (pairing will be revealed in later chapters). Anyhow, this was a request from Shiranai Atsune, and I'm sorry for the long wait! I hope you're not entirely disappointed by this.

Let's just dive right in:

Chapter I

(The Shinjuku Incident)

"Private Lavoie," a burly, stormy-eyed man called out gruffly, coming to a stop in the middle of Lavoie's barracks.

Looking up from where she sat sharpening a dagger, Lavoie's eyes widened and she stood quickly, standing sharp at attention. "Sir," she saluted stiffly. She didn't particularly like Captain Greene, what with his sexist and racist views, but he was still her superior and she had to show him the proper respect his rank demanded.

The Captain's lips pressed into a thin line, watching her for a few, quiet moments. Finally he sighed and gestured to the door, "An Earl by the name of Lloyd Asplund is looking for you."

"An Earl?" Lavoie echoed curiously.

Greene scowled, "Yes. Earl." After a pause, his scowl deepened and he added threateningly, "You haven't displeased the Nobility, have you? Earl Asplund is both Heir of the Asplund family and head of the A.S.E.E.C., which is funded primarily by Second Prince Schneizel himself."

"I don't believe I have, Sir." Schneizel, she thought darkly. For a cold, heart-stopping moment, she wondered if her elder brother had managed to figure out her identity, despite her only being a grunt, and despite her having accomplished nothing to warrant the Prime Minister's attention.

"Yes, well, don't make the good Earl wait," Greene huffed, an unpleasant undertone of 'or else' to his voice.

Lavoie nodded, "Of course, Sir." She swallowed back her disgust at herself, wondering how she'd managed to let herself stoop so low as to bow down to Britannia.

Standing, she grabbed her dagger and, in a split-second, hid it on her person before following the Captain out. Outside the barracks stood a young woman with dark indigo hair and a kind, smiling face. "Hello," the woman greeted, offering her hand, "my name is Cecile Croomy."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Croomy," Lavoie smiled and accepted Cecile's hand with practiced ease, half curtsying.

Cecile's smile widened. "Please, it's just Cecile."

"Um, of course, Ms. Cr—I mean, Cecile." She knew just how much people messed up in these types of situations, the idea of referring to their superiors politely having been drilled to their minds from early on. She couldn't stand out. She would act just as she was expected to, nothing more and nothing less.

Greene left the two alone, satisfied that Private Lavoie wouldn't disgrace him. Cecile relaxed a little once he was out of earshot, "He's quite scary, isn't he, your Captain?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure he's just doing as his duty calls of him," Lavoie stammered uneasily, knowing better than to reveal her true views of her own Captain. "He can be very strict when he wants to be, of course, but that's just how it is." This is how Britannia is, rotten to the very core. One day—not today but some day—that will change. I will make that change.

"I see," Cecile said quietly, and Lavoie wondered at the small hint of disappointment—was it?—on her face. After a second, the expression faded and she smiled a little. "How's the military treating you, then?" Cecile brought up casually, speaking as though they'd know each other for years.

Lavoie didn't understand it, but played along, "Good." Her eyes widened as though she'd just remembered something, "Oh! I'm so sorry, how impolite of me. Here I am, knowing your name, and I've still yet to introduce myself."

Cecile only laughed kindly, but the Private flushed with embarrassment. "I'm Lavoie, Luana Lavoie. Again, I'm so sorry, Cecile."

"Please, don't worry about it," Cecile waved off, and then as an afterthought, added with a growing smile, "Luana."

"So," Lavoie tried bringing up nervelessly, "What's your boss want with me?"

"Lloyd?" Cecile asked curiously. When Lavoie nodded, Cecile shrugged and answered, "Lloyd's a very odd Noble, you know. The others scorn him for it, but Lloyd doesn't care."

"An odd Noble?" Luana found it hard to imagine.

"Yeah," Cecile nodded, picking up the pace. Luana kept in stride. "Lloyd really only cares about his life's works. I presume that's why he called you, actually."

"His... life's works?"

"Yes. We within the A.S.E.E.C. develop Knightmare Frames, I'm sure you know. Lloyd was searching for a decent pilot when he stumbled upon you. Average physical strength, good marksmanship, remarkable smarts. All well and good, but what Lloyd noticed was the score for your Knightmare piloting. 100%. Now that you don't see everyday." Cecile smiled mysteriously and leaned in closer, whispering, "How do you do it? What's your secret?"

Luana flushed, cursing herself. She supposed she should be grateful that Clovis, or even worse Schneizel, hadn't come to check her and her 100% out for themselves. She should have known better than to stand out as a pilot. It was practically the same as standing proud and screaming 'Look at me! I'm special!' After all, there had only ever been one person who'd gotten perfect efficiency before: Marianne 'the Flash' vi Britannia, her mother.

She couldn't help it, though. Her mother had always said she had natural skills and that they were something to be proud of, not to hide. "I—I just did as best I could, I suppose."

Cecile laughed quietly, nodding, "Alright." Finally, the two females came to a stop and Luana blinked, wondering how she hadn't realized they were getting closer. "We're here," Cecile gestured around the laboratory, pointing out a lone, lanky man with pale lilac hair who stood out amongst the other clueless-looking workers. "That's Lloyd. The one who wanted to see you."

"Right, of course," Luana muttered, steeling her nerves. He's not any of my siblings. He won't recognize me. He can't. I won't steer him in that direction. He will never even suspect me.

She swallowed determinedly, and with a kind smile Cecile waved Lloyd over. The scientist sauntered over with an overly cheerful smile on his face, eyes jubilant but sharp; astute.

"Lloyd," Cecile greeted with a polite nod, "This is Private Luana Lavoie.

Lloyd's smile brightened, eyes widening with unveiled joy as he turned to face Luana. Luana flinched unnoticeably when Lloyd offered his arm, beaming, "Ah! You must be the girl who scored 100%. I did expect you to be somewhat older, but no matter, I'm sure you'll be the perfect devicer either way."

"Lloyd!" Cecile admonished from the side, sending the scientist a warning look.

Luana blinked, and then with a nervous smile, accepted his offered hand. "Um... Thank you, my Lord."

"Ah, please, it's just Lloyd. I care naught for Noble titles," Lloyd waved off dismissively, smile never wavering. With a skip in his step he walked towards one end of the lab, and unsurely, Luana followed him, with Cecile encouraging her quietly.

Proudly, Lloyd stopped at the foot of a towering machine, majestically painted white and gold. "This," he began grandly, gesturing wildly at the Knightmare, "is the Lancelot, my brain-child!"

"Lancelot...?" Luana echoed curiously.

"Yes, Lancelot," Cecile confirmed, coming to a stop beside Luana. "We've been working on the perfect Seventh Generation KMF for the longest time, and although we've finally achieved this brilliant war machine, we've yet found a pilot who could bring the Lancelot's efficiency above 30%."

"Hence you." Lloyd grinned, pleased.

"Hence... me?" Luana repeated, shocked.

Lloyd nodded, and then leaned close towards Luana—Does this guy not understand the concept of personal space? Luana wondered—clasping his hands over hers desperately. "Oh, please, you will pilot my Lancelot, won't you? He deserves only the best."

Luana wondered how it would look to her Generals if she displeased an Earl. "I... I'm only a Private," she fumbled for an excuse, knowing that the A.S.E.E.C. was being funded by Prince Schneizel, and if she was going to pilot the first Seventh Generation KMF they'd produced, her half-brother would likely notice quickly.

"Oh," Lloyd smiled. Luana's gut churned at his expression. "If that's your only concern, then you need not worry. We'll amend that problem quickly."

"Welcome to the home of Lancelot," Cecile added, looking relieved that Luana hadn't outright rejected. Quickly, the assistant tossed something shiny towards Luana, and out of pure instinct, the soldier caught it.

Uncurling her fist, she peered grimly down at the item and inhaled sharply.

"The key to the Lancelot," Cecile explained, as if it needed explaining. "Read the manual, will you? Lloyd will try get Prince Clovis' permission to launch your Knightmare."

"My... Knightmare..." The exiled Princess mumbled in disbelief, feeling nauseous. Please say no, Clover. Please. Luana wondered if she should pretend she couldn't maneuver the machine. Maybe they'd believe her. Unlikely. I supposedly got 100%, after all.

Fearfully, she resigned herself to her fate, warning herself not to be so careless next time. After all, knowing her cursed luck, next time it could be the Emperor himself who noticed her.

Luana snorted.

Imagine that.

A man whose face was covered in a scrap of black cloth peered out at the battlefield, looking through the Factosphere of his Knightmare. Prince Clovis is a fool and a murderer, he thought, as though trying to justify his actions. I'd be doing everyone a favor by terminating him.

The sound of a feminine chuckle from behind him snapped him out of his thoughts. He scowled at the source: a green-haired girl with frosty honey-gold eyes and a cat-like smile. Their seating position wasn't exactly comfortable, as the Knightmare was decidedly designed for one person and not two, but his discomfort wasn't the source of his bitterness.

It was distrust, mainly.

"Who are you looking for, again?" He asked her irritably, remembering her words from when they'd first met earlier.

"Help me find someone and I'll help you out of this situation."

"I don't need any help!"

"Tell me that to my face when they pull out their guns."

Just as the mysterious woman said, the Royal Guards aimed the barrel of their weapons at him. He shuddered, gazing around, looking for an exit, but eventually he realized the woman was right. There were a least a dozen of them—he was cornered.

"Alright. I'll help you," he said through gritted teeth.

"I knew you'd see it my way."

She smiled, and confidently, she walked towards the man at the front—the leader, doubtlessly. In one swift move, she placed her hand on the leader's chest—and he started to scream.

Half in awe, half in fear, the masked man watched his new companion subdue their opponents with terrifying grace and practiced ease.

"I think," she said with a small, curious smile, "I've already found her." She was looking at the building in direct view from his Knightmare—the Government Bureau.

His eyes narrowed. Could she be looking for a Government official? Maybe the one who locked her up in that capsule? "Alright, then," he accepted warily.

"Kibō... Kibō!" The radio burst alive with static and voices.

The masked man, or Kibō as he'd named himself, frowned. "Yes?"

"It... It took out the lot of them!" The voice continued fearfully. Kibō recognized him as the leader—Kaname Ohgi. "So fast... So strong!"

Kibō jolted with shock. "It...?" He wondered. "What is 'It'!?"

"A Knightmare!" Another spoke up. "Or, perhaps more fittingly... A nightmare!"

Kibō's eyes scrunched together in distaste at the play on words. This was a battlefield—there was no time for games. "A Knightmare?" He demanded. "Sutherlands? How many?"

This time Ohgi answered, grimly, "One... Just one!"

"It's white! White and gold; I've never seen anything like it before!"

"What!?" Just one? Have the Britannians come up with a new model?

Before anyone could answer, a blur of white dashed across his line of sight, and Kibō watched it with stunned surprise. White and gold? He recalled, and smirked wickedly. I think I've found you, little "nightmare", he laughed, and with a burst of speed, followed after the dashing Knightmare.

Switching on the external speakers, he boomed, "Who are you!?"

Instantly, the Knightmare finished off her current opponent and faced him, replying calmly, "Your worst nightmare!"

Kibō thought it was oddly ironic, considering one of the terrorist's words, but ignored it in favor of attacking the Frame.

The white Knightmare very obviously outclassed his Sutherland in every aspect, running circles around him and pulling up a seemingly invincible shield whenever he fired at it.

He growled under his breath, growing frustrated, "Just admit your defeat!"

"The way I see it, I'm winning!" The pilot shouted back arrogantly, laughing as the Knightmare fired a Slash Harken at him.

The more Kibō thought about it, the more the pilot's voice seemed familiar. It was a female's voice—calm and composed and full of unmitigated hatred. It was a voice that brought back memories he'd long pushed away into a dark corner of his mind—memories of happier times, before Britannia invaded and declared war.

"Get away from my sister, Japanese!"

"I will if you leave my home, filthy Brit!"

"You think I want to be here?"

"If you don't, why are you here then? Intruding my territory?"

"You know nothing, Kururugi Suzaku."

"Then teach me! Teach me so I understand!"

Sighing a little wistfully, Kibō chuckled bitterly and pushed away the memories. They were the past, after all, and he should seek the future.

"I won't let you!" He said aloud, trying to push the Knightmare back. He was vaguely aware of another woman's voice—the redheaded pilot of the Glasgow—screaming at him to run while he was still alive, but he could never consider running away, not when so much was at stake. "You Britannians have done so much already! You've taken everything from us: our freedom, our names, our lives! Isn't that enough?"

After a quiet, tense pause, the pilot replied somberly, "Sometimes, nothing is ever enough."

Kibō realized that she wasn't talking about the things Britannia had done anymore, and when a red Glasgow slid in front of him, taking over his fight, he felt old suddenly—old and weary. Switching to a private channel, he bid, "Take care of yourself, Kallen. I'll go to Clovis."

Static. "...Of course, Kibō. Always."

With those parting words, Kibō ejected from his Sutherland, watching as he flew past the debris of ruined houses. Someday, it won't have to be like this again. I will make it so that everything will change. So that we, the Japanese, can rise from the ashes anew, reborn.

"Where are you going?" The green-haired woman asked when he exited the cockpit.

"Didn't you hear, woman?" He paused. "I'm going to pay Clovis a little visit."

"...Alright," she shrugged, not budging from her place in the cockpit.

He rolled his eyes but snuck into the Bureau, avoiding guards and soldiers and knocking out those who saw him. Eventually, he found himself facing Clovis, who glared at him from the Throne.

"Who are you!? I asked not to be disturbed!"

"Then forgive me for disturbing you, Your Highness," he snarked sarcastically. Clicking the safety off his gun, he raised his arm and aimed at Clovis, whose eyes widened as he realized who he sat in front of.

"Y-You..." Clovis stuttered. "You're the one who lead today's battle, aren't you!?"

Kibō smiled at Clovis' accusation, although Clovis himself couldn't see it. "Call off your soldiers, Prince."

Clovis looked like he would hesitate, but looking at the gun in his hands, nodded nervously. "Alright. Just—just wait a moment, alright?"

Clovis regained his composure after a few breaths, and closing his eyes, issued his order.

"Is that all you want?" Clovis asked when he was done, switching off the console. "Anything else—or will you leave me be now?"

"Leave you be?" Kibō laughed at the idea. "This is a war, Prince Clovis, and you'll be a casualty." The last casualty, too, if I can help it.

"C-Casualty?" Clovis sucked in a breath. "But I—"

"Called your troops off? Don't make me laugh. You killed enough innocent men already." Sardonically, he added, "I hope you have your prayers ready."

"Clovis..." The little girl sighed sadly. "Clovis was always a fool."

"Don't be so mean!" Her sister scolded. "Clovis was a nice brother."

The other girl, older by three years, nodded finally. "Nice, perhaps," she agreed, "but smart he was not. He was a spoilt fool who lived in luxury—compared to others, though, I suppose he was nice for someone born with the status he was."

"What was he like?" Another child, a boy this time, asked curiously.

"He was..." She hesitated. "He was a painter. An innocent brother, once upon a time. I never imagine he would ever be capable of painting death on his canvas."

"...I'm sorry, Lulu."

"No, I'm sorry. It's my family who tore yours apart. At least let me apologize." She smiled a little—but it was a sad smile. "I wonder what drove someone like Clovis to become a Viceroy."

"Perhaps we'll know someday," the younger sister suggested.

The older sister never replied, looking off into the distance, a forlorn, faraway look in her eyes.

"Lulu?" The boy prompted quietly.

She blinked, and then laughed quietly. "Yes, perhaps," she nodded, but her voice lacked conviction and belief.

Kibō gritted his teeth. He should kill Clovis. He knew he should. But... "I have one question for you, Prince Clovis."

Clovis flinched, preparing himself for an onslaught of accusations—"Why did you kill the people of Shinjuku? What gave you the right!?" He was surprised, however, when he was instead asked, "Why did you choose to rule over Ja—no, Area 11?"

"Why did I..." Clovis started to repeat, before trailing off with a frown. Why did he?

"Well?"

Clovis looked back at the man behind the gun. Normally he wouldn't answer, but he knew his end was near, so he shrugged and replied off-handedly, trying to regain some measure of control—as if he really had a choice. "Area 11 needed neutralizing. I was just the deliverer."

"Is that all?" The terrorist sounded like he was frowning.

Clovis was about to nod, when he remembered: "I had two sisters, once. Two sisters who didn't deserve death. They were murdered by your kind, so I saw it fit to return the favor."

Kibō froze, eyes widening in the dark. "Two... sisters?" Two faces flashed in his mind—a girl with sandy brown hair and kind, pale lilac eyes and another girl with short raven hair and determined, chilly amethyst eyes. "...I see." So you were right. In the end he's just a bother.

He thought of his subordinates, who counted on him to act for the better of Japan. He thought of his mother as she died, eyes full of grief and sorrow. "Someday, we'll be free."

He knew he couldn't let them down. I'm sorry, Nana. I hope you'll understand, Lulu. Shakily, he took in a deep breath and steadied his outstretched arm. "...Goodbye, Clovis. You were just a brother once—but now you're so much more. Perhaps one day you'll be forgiven."

Choosing to come to death with a bang, Clovis scoffed, "I don't need an Eleven's forgiveness."

Kibō just smiled dryly. "Not mine, Your Highness."

Before Clovis could ask who's forgiveness he would want, a loud, ear-shattering bang rang in the air—and the blond Prince sagged in his seat, blood splattering onto the wall behind him, as if he was just another death on the canvas he painted.

Rest well, Your Highness. That's what Nunnally would have wished for you. And Lucia.

"Good job, Luana," Cecile congratulated with a proud smile. "I've never seen anyone pilot the Lancelot as beautifully as you have."

"Indeed, indeed!" Lloyd cheered, welcoming Luana as she dropped down from the cockpit.

She smiled, a little worn out but happy nonetheless. "I helped, didn't I?" She asked. "I lessened the casualties, at least, right?"

"Yes, you definitely did," Cecile assured. "You distracted the terrorists and effectively stopped the killing until Clovis did officially."

Luana breathed in relief. "That's good." That's what Nunnally would want. "And... And the leader of the terrorists?" She remembered his words, laced with belief and conviction and rage. It made her shiver. "Who was he?" She remembered the way he piloted his Knightmare, with a strange sense of grace most pilots lacked.

"We don't know," Cecile pursed her lips.

Lloyd, instead, grinned. "Actually, we do."

"What!?" Cecile turned on him, wide-eyed.

"We hacked their comms. It was easy. Clearly, the leader was more brawn than brain."

Luana wondered how a leader of terrorists could overlook the value of intelligence, when smarts could do so much more than strength could. After all, that's what subordinates were for—protection, power. The leader should be intelligent enough to at least protect his communications, if he wanted to truly liberate Area 11. Not that I, a loyal soldier of the Empire, would—should—want him to, of course. That would be treason, she reminded herself warningly.

"I know, right?" Lloyd agreed at the dumbfounded look on both Luana and Cecile's face, laughing loudly. "Anyway, the leader—they called him Kibō."

"Kibō..." Luana tested the foreign word on her tongue, the Japanese she'd learn from before the invasion helping her. Hope... What hope is there in a world like this?

"Hey, Luana," Cecile approached the brooding girl.

Luana tensed, her eyes darting warily to meet the assistant's, before she relaxed at the sight of Cecile. "Hey," she mumbled, offering a halfhearted smile.

"Why are you in the army?"

"What?" Luana's brows furrowed into a frown, not understanding Cecile's question, or why Cecile was asking.

Cecile shrugged and repeated, "Why are you in the army? Why do you fight?" Softly, not intending to insult Luana, Cecile added, "You're a seventeen year old girl. You have so much ahead of you—but you chose to serve the army. Why?"

"Because..." Luana racked her brain for an answer. Should I tell her about Nunnally? Can I trust her? Much as she wanted to believe she could trust Cecile, Luana knew to expect the worst. "I..." Making up her mind, Luana revealed, "I had a sister, once."

Cecile's eyes widened. Had? Frantically, she assured, "You don't have to—"

As if Cecile had never interrupted at all, Luana continued, eyes clouded with memories, "She was a beautiful girl. Innocent, honest, trusting. Everything I could never hope to be. When the war came..." She shook her head, as if to shake off the pain. "They killed her. I was rotten, but instead of taking a flower already dying, left on the ground, they plucked out my sister, who was still blooming, still full of hope and faith."

"I'm sorry," Cecile offered, but it seemed so worthless in the face of Luana's words.

Luana smiled sadly, "She didn't deserve it, you know."

"I know."

"I... I failed her."

Cecile rested a hand on Luana's shoulder. Hugging her knees, Luana curled into a fetal position, and Cecile paled when she heard the distinct sound of sobs. Not knowing what to do, she knelt down beside the crying girl and hugged her tight, trying to comfort someone she barely knew.

Unseen to Cecile, Luana smiled darkly. I'm sorry, Cecile, but first and foremost your loyalty is to Britannia, and Nunnally is my world. Maybe, one day, I can trust you, but not when the risk of me being discovered is so high.

Well, that's it for the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it—and please excuse any mistakes I've made. Also, school let out for Christmas break just yesterday, so here's hoping I'll be able to post the next chapter for The Truth Hurts More very, very soon.

That's all I have to say, really, besides please review and tell me what you think, and it's not really new news but oh my dear god I'm looking forward to season three even though it could very well screw everything up, so, there you go!

— sfaye-chan.