Hello, everyone.

I've retuned with a new story that may or may not be crack-ish. It's not supposed to be taken super seriously, so don't hate on this too hard. Plus, I'm not experienced with writing intricate stories with twists and turns at every corner. So…you know…don't be a super critical dick.

Constantly worrying about what people think of me is exhausting, so I'm just going to get on with the story. Which you might also hate since I'm unsure of how well I can pull off a fanfic for the Code Geass fandom.

Gah! Enough dawdling! Enjoy the chapter! Leave a review! Don't be a dick! Or at least, no more than you are constructively critical! See you next chapter! If there is one!

Bye~

Japan, 2010 a.t.b.

It begins with a dream.

An impossible dream within an impossible place about an impossible entity whose very presence should have been impossible for me to know of. A dream that seems to be going by all too fast, and somehow, at the same time, not nearly fast enough. It could be considered a form of torture, the indeterminable speed at which it moves.

Above where I stand, on the Sword of Akasha, C's World's vibrant golden palette contrasts ethereally against the endless darkness that surrounds it. A void that seems to be held at bay by Jupiter's captivating visage alone.

The celestial body, as if recognizing that I have recognized its presence, shines bright with shared intent. A singular purpose for which they can all agree to.

Somehow…the ever conflicting nature of C's World is nowhere to be found.

The internal and never-ending conflict that has plagued its existence since the dawn of humanity has suddenly and quite deafeningly silenced. And in that silence, I wait for…I don't know what exactly…but I wait for it, nonetheless.

Its golden shine pours down on me, like the sun, warming me to my core.

And then it speaks to me.

Not through words or thoughts, but, again, through intent.

I receive its message…in a way that I've never experienced anything before. In a way so unbelievably beautiful and horrifying and unifying and far, far too much for my mind to handle. For any mortal mind, I suspect.

C's World has made a request. God has offered me a contract. And at my lowest point, how on Earth could I have possibly said no?

…

Huh.

I wonder if that's what it was counting on?

Imperial Capital, Britannia, 2009 a.t.b.

"Announcing! Prince Marcellus li Britannia, Fifth Heir to the Royal Britannian Imperial Throne. And announcing! Prince Lelouch vi Britannia, Seventeenth Heir to the Royal Britannian Imperial Throne."

Two figures march through an open set of large double doors, scowls sitting heavily upon their faces. As they walk through the threshold, the younger and the far less restrained of the two, boldly takes the lead.

From all around the two princes, furious whispers break out amongst the assembled vassals as they discuss the recent events that have transpired. Namely, the assassination of Marianne vi Britannia and its aftermath.

"I heard Empress Marianne was killed inside of the Britannian Palace."

"There's no way terrorists could have gotten in there."

"Which means that the real assassins must have been-"

"Shhh! Beware, my friend. You'll regret it if anyone hears that kind of talk around the palace. Especially Prince Marcellus."

"Yes, take special care not to mention it around him. Word is, he's been searching the city high and low for any sign of the Empress' killers. He's even hauled in and interrogated nearly a dozen different men and women of high standing."

"Unbelievable. That young man is tearing his way through the capital, targeting nobility even, all for the sake of a woman who wasn't even his mother?"

"Well, what can you expect? It's Prince Marcellus, after all. The so-called bleeding heart of the Imperial Family."

"More than that, they say he was quite close to Empress Marianne. Wherever she was, Prince Marcellus could also be found not too far behind."

"Such devotion to a dead woman, one not even his blood. How unsightly."

"But it's all for nothing if rumors are to be believed."

"Quite right. Whoever did it is still out there, and even with his rollicking efforts, it'll likely stay that way."

"And yet the young Prince Lelouch remains, even though his mother is dead."

"Regardless of whether he is here or not, it's the end of the line for them. The Ashford family who stood behind them, too."

"And his sister, the princess?"

"I understand she was shot in the legs."

"And that she lost her sight."

"Blindness caused by trauma, though, isn't it?"

"It makes no difference. Now she can't even be married off for political gain."

Of all his siblings, those who were still alive from the on-going, horrendous infighting that seems to plague his otherwise beloved family anyway, Marcellus was most protective of his sisters. Both younger and older.

He had so few of them, as opposed to his numerous brothers, that even the very idea of leaving them to fend off the dangers of the world all on their own appalled him on every conceivable level.

At times, his view of them as things that needed to be sheltered and protected has often been judged, mostly by his older, prideful, and much more world-wise sisters, as sexist. An implication that they are not capable of protecting themselves nor judging accurately another's character for themselves.

As if they, as women, were inherently incapable of such an action.

But he never let such worrisome opinions get in the way of warding off any potential suitors that came sniffing around for what they would consider an easy mark. The younger of his siblings were more likely to be influenced in exactly the worst way, brother and sister alike.

If it was sexist, even though he would do this for any of his siblings, boy or girl, to prevent any of his beloved sisters from falling into he hands of some charlatan noble, he could live with it. He did live with it, and would continue to do so for as long as he drew breath.

Their feelings on what he did for them and why he did them affected absolutely nothing on his end. The love and desire to protect what remained of his family, barring a majority of the conniving imperial consorts his father had in his midst, was unrelated to how they felt about things.

Even if they were to curse his name and spit on him, and there was one particular incident where he had been spit on by a certain elder sister, his love and desire to protect them would stand firm. Always.

It was a selfish kind of love that would no doubt sour his relationship with them one day, he knew. But until that day came where they wanted little or nothing to do with him, and probably beyond then as well, he'd never stop.

Never.

Thus, upon hearing the last comment aimed at his hospitalized and traumatized Nana, Marcellus' scowl hardens into a savage glare. One that he directs at the small group of individuals he can hear the clearest. And one that silences them, and those around them, on the spot.

The vassals in question might've been older and perhaps even larger in stature, but the men and women standing around the two princes were suited for a different kind of battlefield.

One of false smiles and hidden daggers, as opposed to the actual battlefield. A literal war zone. The place where the young man they shrink away from as much as they physically can has proven himself time and time again to be one of the most dangerous of the royal family in terms of actual fighting.

As well as one of the most dangerous fighters Britannia's military has to offer.

Satisfied with tearing away their disciplined expressions and postures with a sudden, remarkably silent threat to their safety immediate safety, though not nearly as much as he could be had he been able to get his hands on them, he turns back to the far more difficult matter at hand.

As the two brothers reach the foot of the short staircase leading to the 98th Emperor of Britannia, a man otherwise known to them both as Father, Lelouch is the first to speak. Which worries Marcellus immensely, as he can already tell from Charles' posture that this conversation would not end in either of their favors.

Not in the least.

Then again, conversations with their father rarely ended in anything that could come close to 'in their favor'. That was why he had come to rely so heavily upon the late Lady Marianne. The woman who was kindness, love, and understanding incarnate. Which was surprising given how hard she could hit.

"Hail, Your Majesty. My mother, the Empress, is dead." For a brief moment, he felt a ghost of a smile threaten to appear on his lips. But it was fleeting, as not even the amusement he felt at his brother's adorable attempt at being formal could drive away the seriousness of the situation.

"Old news, what of it?" The question is delivered with a hard, impatient stare.

Lelouch is taken aback. "What of it?" The innocent and genuine confusion in his suddenly childish tone makes Marcellus' heart ache. If it weren't for the fact that it would only make a bad conversation so very much worse, he'd have lost his temper right then and there.

Having had a reputation for 'impertinence' in the Royal Court for practically all his life, it'd hardly be a shock to anyone familiar with him if he had. Which was just about everyone currently in the room, if the partly anticipatory and partly nervous looks he could see out the corner of his eye were any indicator. Looks directed mainly at him.

But he couldn't. Which was to say, he couldn't yet. He'd come with Lelouch to support him in his quest for answers. As well as to have some of his own answered, if possible. Such as, 'How in the hell could the Empress of Britannia have been murdered right in her own home, her children crippled and traumatized, in the very heart of our nation?' And 'Why are you so indifferent about this when your wife is dead!? When our blood has been spilt!?'

He'd much rather believe that his father was only acting like this because of some nefarious and convoluted scheme that targeted the entire family, rather than to entertain the notion that he had something to do with it.

For all he was a stoic man, often showing how he felt about certain people or things through muted, misguided action rather than words, Charles zi Britannia loved Marianne. Marcellus knew he did. Or, at least, he had thought so.

Which is why it just doesn't make any sense!

"You sought an audience with the Emperor of Britannia simply to inform me of that? Send the next one in. I have no time for these childish games." Charles dismisses his son, not even giving the conversation half a chance to go anywhere.

"Father!" Lelouch takes a step forward, an act which warrants the two guards on either side of the throne to rush in. Marcellus also takes a step forward, though a much more threatening one than his brother's, and braces to block any blows that come Lelouch's way. Only to pause as the two guards are kept at bay by Charles' raised hand.

""Yes, Your Majesty!""

The loyalty to the throne is admirable, but Marcellus could hardly think of a ten year old boy, the Emperor's son, no less, as being a proper enough threat to warrant to blades being necessary. Overdramatic and worthy of a good ass-kicking. Which they'll most definitely receive when I find them in the training hall tomorrow. Point a weapon at my brother? Absolutely unacceptable.

But the boy prince is hardly going to drop the issue. "Why didn't you keep mother out of harm's way? You're the Emperor, the greatest man in this nation if not the world. You should have protected her, and now you don't even visit Nunnally?"

"I've no use for that weakling." The finality, the dismissal, of the statement hits Marcellus harder than any physical blow could. His Nana…useless?…a weakling!?

"That weakling?" Whereas Marcellus bristles at the insult, Lelouch simply goes limp. Shock plain across the faces of both brothers.

Having enough of the man's attitude, his words, and even his general existence for the time being, Marcellus takes another step forward, placing a reassuring hand on Lelouch's shoulder for a brief moment before taking another step.

He kept his voice low, and spoke with none of the etiquette that was expected when addressing royalty. There was only venom. "How can you say that father? About your own daughter. About your family. I don't know what is going on, why you're acting like this, but Marianne would be ashamed of you. I'm ashamed of you."

The moment the words left his mouth, he could see it. The slightest twinge of emotion. Not the shock coming on his face, but the something in his eyes that sparked for a single, brief fraction of a second. Ah. There it is. The reaction I wanted. You aren't nearly as emotionally impenetrable as you're portraying yourself to be, father. Beneath your chest lies a heart. A heart of rotted stone, perhaps. But a heart, nonetheless. That's one question answered, at least.

Of course, what came next was yet another clamp on his emotions. A wall with which he kept his children's questions at bay.

"That is what it means to be Royalty, boy." Marcellus felt his stomach clench. If there was anything he heated in this world, he hated that. So much so that in that moment he wanted to do nothing more than to rush up to his father and give him the biggest punch to the face that he could muster.

Consequences be damned, as per his usual hotheaded modus operandi.

Being called boy, being looked down upon, being treated as some snot-nosed fucking child without the first clue as to how the real world works. Except that he did. They didn't know most the time, those in the court and in the military who thought themselves automatically his betters at understanding the ins and outs of life. But Marcellus li Britannia knew exactly how the world worked.

He may not have had the grace to blend into socialite circles like his older sister Guinevere or the foresight to maneuver politics as well as his older brother Schneizel, but years of fighting for his very life in actual combat and surviving multiple assassination attempts from the factions supporting the ascension to Empress of women who should have been loving aunts to him and his siblings, had taught him more than enough, he felt.

But no. Here in the Homeland, his four years of fighting enemies of the nation, both at home and on the frontline, meant nothing.

Like Cornelia, his other older sister with whom he was much closer to, his talents lied majorly on the battlefield. Not necessarily on a tactical level, but definitely on a combative one. Even outside of the Knightmare Frames he piloted, there was no better fighter amongst the Royal Family. Perhaps Cornelia, but no one is certain. Not even them.

So what right did anyone have to look down on him? The only issue with that now was that it wasn't just anyone. It was his father, the Emperor of Britannia who was doing it. And it pissed him the hell off!

Still, it wasn't as though he'd get the chance to speak his mind on the matter, "Then I don't want to be you heir! I give up my claim to the throne!" as the sudden declaration almost physically blindsided him.

From all around the room, audible gasps of genuine shock and awe could be heard. Word of this would reach the entirety of the Capital's political depths, he's guessing, within an hour of the court being adjourned. Of this Marcellus had no doubt.

"I'm sick of the fighting and scheming over who will success you, father! I've had enough!"

But he could think on that later, as he now had to try and deal with his foolish younger brother's sudden declaration of…well, there's not an accurate enough word, but it's certainly the worst thing to happen since Marianne's death.

Turning on his heels and closing in on the gap between them, he quickly goes and crouches down by the younger's side, turning him by his shoulders so that they are face to face. "Lelouch, what are you doing? I thought I told you not to say tha-"

"You are dead." Both brothers turn towards the man.

"Eh…?" The younger prince furrows his brows in confusion as he looks towards his father.

"What?" The older prince does the same, but instead furrows his brows in mounting concern, and not a small bit of indignation.

Looking Lelouch in the eyes, "You have always been dead to me, dead from the moment you were born. Who gave you the fine clothes you wear, a comfortable home, the food you eat, and your very life? All of those, I have given to you. In short, you are nothing to me because you have never existed. Yet you dare to speak such foolishness to me!?"

"Eek! Aaah!" Lelouch takes a step back in surprise, half squealing half gasping in fear, as Charles stands. The only reason he doesn't fall to the floor after missing a step is Marcellus' outstretched hand firmly grasping his upper arm.

"Lelouch! You are dead. Therefore, you are not entitled to any rights. I am sending you and Nunnally to Japan. As Prince and Princess you will serve well as bargaining tools." Like hell!

Pulling the small figure of his brother in close in close, and perhaps squeezing a bit too tight for Lelouch's comfort, Marcellus glares heatedly at the man. "You cannot do this, father! They're only children, their lives will be in danger if they leave the Homeland. If they enter the hands of Britannia's enemies!" Their lives will be at stake if they stay here as well, but at least I can protect them. They'll be on their own out there. At the mercy of complete strangers.

"I am the Emperor!" He roars. "I do not answer to you nor anyone else!"

Fuck…there's no changing his mind now. "Then…" He hesitates, but only for a split second. Weighing his options and its aftereffects in but a handful of seconds is hard, but not nearly hard enough to dissuade him from his next course of action. "I renounce my claim as well. And I'll be going to Japan with them. Britannia will no doubt make good use of a third bargaining tool." More gasps from the peanut gallery. Better make that half an hour before all of the Capital hears of this.

Marcellus' mind races to plot and plan what the next step would be. Would his father wait until Nunnally can be moved or would he just order them sent to Japan as is? Who would be receiving them? Would they even be allowed to stay together while they were there? He struggled to remember what the exact political climate was between the two nations, but he was sure it was nothing a bit of late night studying on the way over couldn't-

"No."

Huh? What? "…what did you say?" He'd heard. But he was praying to whatever higher power was out there that he'd heard wrong.

"You will not be renouncing your claim. And neither will you be joining Lelouch and Nunnally in Japan. Your skill as a Knightmare pilot, your talent as a Britannian soldier, are far too valuable to lose. You will remain here. That is all."

Unable to help himself, Marcellus pushes his brother behind him. "Remain…here…? No…no! I'm going with them, no matter what you say. Try and stop me, see what happens." Marcellus doesn't bother keeping his voice down, despite the threat he's made to the Emperor. Because while treason was the first word that came to mind, it mattered very little compared to the one that followed.

Family.

The severity and intensity of the look his father gave him was all he needed to know that the conversation was well and truly over. "Guards, escort my wayward sons to their rooms. I have no more time to waste with this foolishness."

The two men from before once again begin approaching them, this time without Charles stopping them. Marcellus feels Lelouch grip his coattails, seeking comfort from the only person in the room he knows is not against him.

Reaching back, he gently pries away a small hand. He could hardly fight with someone hanging onto him, after all. "Relax, Lelouch, everything is going to be fine. I won't allow them separate us. You, me, Nunally, Euphemia, Clovis, Cornelia, and all the others…we're a family. They can't tear us apart. They won't." Though they certainly will try.

Damn it! This isn't a fight I can win. But…I can't just stop and let them take him! What the hell kind of message will that send? That our family is only ever good for turning on each other? It's a rhetoric I'm tired of seeing everywhere I go. No…I might not be able to stop them from being sent away, but I can at least give the kid a lesson on how family comes first…because I might never get the chance to see them again, if worst comes to worst…

The first guard moves in, trying to go for a hold, and is immediately blocked, pushed back, and sent flying into his approaching partner with a kick to the chest.

Marcellus may only be seventeen, but he'd been training his body into that of a warrior since the day he turned seven to become Britannia's ultimate soldier. Underneath the silk blouse and cape, was the body of a fighter. He wasn't a one man army, he was young yet and still too inexperienced with handling multiple combatants, despite the massive amount of combat he'd taken part in, to be called as such. But he packed more than enough strength in his large frame to take on two measly guards.

The fact of them being elite guards whose purpose was to protect the Emperor himself, and were thus on a higher combat level as opposed to regular soldiers, was a detail lost to Marcellus.

Taking a breath, Marcellus readies himself for a fight, only to feel a pricking sensation on the right side of his neck. His hand moves to it, only to feel another of that same prick on the back of his hand.

Bringing it into view, his movements are sluggish and his vision steadily going in and out of focus, he can see there's a small metal dart sticking out of his skin. The kind used on elephants, and other large animals that were on the verge of going on a rampage.

They…tranquilized me?

The ground starts to rush towards him. Slowly, at first, as he uses all of his fading strength to remain standing.

Of course they did. That's such a bullshit win on their part. Smart, but bullshit. The cowards.

He can hear Lelouch call out his name as his head touches the corner of a carpeted step. His vision is much blurrier now, possibly from the impact and definitely from the tranquilizers.

Ah, that kinda hurt…I think. Lelouch is probably terrified now. Terrified and alone. What a terrible brother I am…to have gone down so quickly.

Two hands grip his coat, shaking him.

And I bet Cornelia's never going to let this go. The nag. She's definite…ly…going…to…

And then…nothing.

Marcellus had been right in that it would only take the half hour to reach the entirety of the capital. But it had taken an hour for word of the incident to reach the ears of one Cornelia li Britannia, as well as the soldiers under her. All of whom had been in the middle of conducting the first of their training exercises with their new custom outfitted Glasgow Knightmare Frames.

And despite being nearly two hours away by car from her family's manor, it only took forty-five minutes before she was stomping down the fourth floor corridor that led Marcellus' room.

To say she was not in the least entertained with what she's heard of her younger brother's latest stunt was a massive understatement. Even among all the other things he's done and only barely gotten away with, this was far and away the worst one to date.

Cornelia loved all of her brothers and sisters, regardless of whether they shared a mother or not. From her eldest brother Odysseus to her youngest sister Nunnally, each and every one of them had a place in her heart. No matter how horribly they may have grated on her nerves with their unique quirks and antics. Such as Lelouch and his never ending attempts to get her and everyone else in sight to play a game of chess with him. A game she has come to loathe when in the hands of the boy,

But of all her siblings, Marcellus was far and away the most troublesome with his incredulously unbefitting of royalty stunts. And, at the same time, the most endearing.

Most of the time, it was harmless fun intended to get a rise out of the most easily bothered of them. Some of them even made her laugh when she was there to witness them in all their ridiculous glory. There were even a certain few that she liked to think back on and smile at, if only for how unbelievable it was that he could manage to pull them off.

Convincing their younger brother Clovis that the bottom of the pond behind Lady Marianne's villa smelled like strawberries was a particularly good one. He'd chased Marcellus around the entirety of the property for almost an hour after he'd managed to stop coughing out all the water he'd swallowed. If the older boy hadn't been faster, had more stamina, and a knack for climbing trees, and the younger had as much stamina as he did conviction to catch Marcellus, Clovis might actually have caught him.

And that time he told Nunnally, Carine, and Euphemia that he wasn't a real person like they thought he was. That instead he was actually a robot that was built to look like their brother, who had suddenly disappeared one night. And then proceeded to prove it by doing "complex calculations" in his head.

Of course, with them being six, seven, and nine respectively, and thus unable to do college level mathematics themselves, they had to look to someone else who was older to tell them that he was being honest. Regrettably, they had chosen to look to Clovis, thinking that since the two were always butting heads, he'd be the one to sell Marcellus out.

But they didn't count on the unspoken, unexpected agreement between the two that messing with them would prove far more entertaining than their usual routine of messing with each other. Unfortunately for the boys, Nunnally and Euphemia didn't much like the idea of having a machine for a brother and sobbed all the way to Marianne about it.

The punishment they faced, both by Marianne and then by Cornelia herself when she cornered them hours later, only made the whole thing much more enjoyable. Especially the part where she rained hellfire down on them for making her Euphie cry.

But with all the harmless fun and the growing sense of troublemaking Marcellus seemed to stir up in each of them, there were, of course, those incidents that could not be so easily overlooked. One incident in particular, and a relatively recent one, had even gone so far as to require Empress Marianne to step in and smooth things over.

A guard from the vi Britannia estate Aries Villa had attacked Marcellus for reasons that Cornelia wasn't able to get out of anyone she talked to that knew of the incident. The only reason she even knew that this altercation had occurred was when, seemingly out of nowhere, Marcellus had returned home covered with deep, still-bleeding cuts and ugly bruises littering his body.

Upon laying eyes on him, she'd asked is he'd been thrown through a window. To which he laughed and laughed. She hadn't expected his answer to be 'Yes! That's exactly what happened!'

She had immediately gone to their mother, Victoria, who had in turn spoken with Marianne, who had then allowed them to know the briefest of details. There was an altercation between Marcellus and an Aries Villa guard, and the resolution that came about came in the form of Lilycia Gottwald, the younger sister of the guard, becoming Marcellus' Knight of Honor.

For context, Marcellus li Britannia had always put off the 'chore', as he put it, of selecting a Knight of Honor. For someone who valued the time alone as much as he valued the time he spent with his family, having a Knight of Honor, which was essentially having a second shadow, was nothing short of a nightmare.

For no matter where he was or who he was with, they would be there as well. Ready to protect him with their life from any dangers or threats. All of which is how Cornelia deduced that what happened at the Aries Villa was more than likely Marcellus fault. Or, at least, he shouldered enough of the blame that it required him to bite the bullet on that particular issue.

Coming to a stop just outside of his room, Cornelia is surprised to see two guards standing on either side of the door. And as much as it irritated her that a member of the royal family, her family, was being confined to their room, she couldn't deny that if what Marcellus had actually done was even half as bad as she'd heard…it was a warranted measure.

Not that she believed any of the more exaggerated claims. Like him swinging a sword around at members of the court. Please, Marcellus was much more likely to just shoot them, as they weren't worth the effort of using his sword. His words exactly whenever Guinevere was around and began complaining of how tiring it could be to maintain the advantages she held over everyone else.

Threatening their father, however? Yes, absolutely. Especially if the man had said anything derogatory about anything related to Marianne's death or his children in general that Marcellus found less than agreeable. Titles and positions of power meant nothing to him in the face of an insult directed at his family. Not even in the face of the Emperor.

They salute to her in unison the moment she comes into view. ""Your Highness!"" No emotion, not a single hair out of line, and only the deepest level of loyalty and respect that is expected of them. That they make for the perfect examples of royal guardsmen pleases the soldier side of her almost as much as it makes the sister side want to throw them down a flight of stairs.

"Leofric, Walter." She acknowledges them. Cornelia makes it her business to know the profiles of as many of the Royal Guard as she could. Names, backgrounds, and potential futures included. "Step aside."

The two soldiers trade looks side-eyed glances with each other. A short, silent, and decisive debate occurs and concludes as Cornelia's patience visibly begins to wear thin.

With apprehension, Walter addresses the elephant in the room. "…Your Highness…His Majesty has ordered that…Prince Marcellus be…allowed…no…visitors…ma'am…" He trails off as the narrowed gaze of 'The Witch of Britannia' lands solely on him. Cornelia knows exactly where this is going, and she is having none of it.

"I beg your pardon. Are you presuming to tell me where I am allowed to go? In my own home, no less?" Both men go pale at the very idea of angering the young woman any further, knowing what hardships it would mean for them later on if they did. "Well?"

Those who Cornelia felt had a shortcoming, in any given capacity, and thus needed a 'personal lesson' often found themselves learning more than anything else just how hard the princess could hit.

Trading another meaningful glance, they nod, albeit uncertainly, before stepping out of the way. Leofric does his best to lessen the rising hostility. Bowing his head, "We apologize, Your Highness. We meant no disrespect. Please, forgive us."

She looks each of the men sternly in the eye, before moving past them to get into the room.

As soon as the door closes, both men let out a breath they didn't know they were holding. "We should probably steer clear of the training mats for a while." Leofric says.

"Yeah…we probably should." Walter nods indulgingly at the suggestion.

Leofric sighs, "…it wouldn't help, would it?" and Walter chuckles. "Oh, no, absolutely not. If she's set on coming for us, we have no chance of escape."

Another sigh, "Fuck."

Another chuckle. "Yeah. Fuck is right."