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Suzaku gaped—stumbling back out of the vast interior. To his disbelief, the view outside remained unchanged—simply a mere wooden closet.
…and yet, on the inside…
The impossible room, too large for its host, defied all laws of physics.
On the other hand, Sir Waldstein—much to Lelouch’s misfortune—simply strode in unfazed. His grip on the captive Zero’s arms never flinched…and the Emperor—to his absolute horror—led the group inside with stoic indifference. From his new position on the sterile floor, Lelouch strained his eyes upwards. He got a glimpse of his most despised enemy towering over the white metal console, calmly manipulating the buttons on the panels as if it were his own. Shock gave way inside him to an eruption of rage.
“You…!” he growled, seething through a vicious bite, “All this time….you KNEW!”
…No answer. A stinging pain in his cheek flared, as his face was dragged across the floor for his troubles.
Suzak—no, Sir Kururugi; the traitor had chosen to sell all rights to their friendship to gain his new title, so he might as well use it—re-entered the ship’s control room with baited breath.
“Y-your Majesty…may I ask…what is this? How is it possible?”
“Technology from far beyond what the human race will ever achieve.” the Emperor answered coldly, “It’s referred to as dimensional transcendentalism—a name that sounds like nonsense to men of lower mind, but I rather approve of it.”
“But…with all due respect, Your Majesty…how did this technology come into existence? What is it doing under the palace?”
“It belonged to Lelouch’s mother.” Charles answered simply. “She was…something special, to be told. A cut beyond any mere human.”
“…what exactly do you mean?”
“It may surprise you, Sir Kururugi, to know that we are not alone in the universe.”
Suzaku’s eyes shot wide open.
…did that…did that mean what he thought it meant—?
Shock settled into his stomach. Disbelief and confusion washed over him in dizzying waves…he turned around to glance at the prone form of his former friend—now enemy—tight in Bismark’s grip. The boy he’d known since they were just kids. The boy he’d played with in the forests of Japan before the invasion, known like a brother.
The almost-brother who’d become Zero. Who’d killed Euphie.
His mind taunted him with a thought, nigh-unbelievable…
“Lelouch…is an alien?”
“His mother was.” The Emperor corrected, “He is simply a hybrid.”
Disbelief clawed up his throat and stole his voice, as his mouth flapped uselessly.
The world blurred out of focus, skin chilling and crawling—and his eyes focussed in, of their own volition, on Lelouch’s face. Some part of him, ravenous for a sense of certainty and understanding—jumped from his gaze to his scowl, yearning to find some sort of proof, something that felt…strange.
—he met black hair, pale skin, violet eyes, a human face…the same as he’d always been.
A human face, but only half.
Half…alien.
“I had suspicions that Geass might not be adequate. So, we’ll just need to use something more powerful. Something built for his kind.”
Something in Lelouch must’ve recognised…whatever the strange headpiece was. His eyes widened with horror and he began to writhe in Bismark’s grip, like a wrangled prey animal—eyebrows shot up underneath his fringe, breath racing, voice devolving into deranged, begging stutters.
“N…no! You can’t! That’s—”
After all the hatred and vengeance Suzaku thought he’d built for himself…the vitriol and disgust he’d let simmer while by the side of Julius Kingsley…something traitorous and weak inside him faltered—his mind forcefully steeled itself, but his gut crumbled into unease.
“S-Suzaku, you HAVE to—please! PLEASE! Don’t—DON’T LET HIM DO THIS—”
He’d never seen Lelouch this terrified.
Not when he kicked him down for the first time at the Kururugi Shrine. Not when they trekked through villages of bodies during the war.
Not when the Emperor had first revealed his Geass.
(…Soon enough, he’d realise why.)
The Knight of One grabbed Lelouch’s neck and head in a vice-grip, forcing him still as the device was placed over his skull…
“No! NO! Nonononono-no! Not again—you CAN’T!”
As His Majesty flicked a button on the panel, the machine whirred to life.
—and Lelouch screamed.
Visceral—guttural—squeezing his lungs for all they were worth. His whole chest caved in and his mouth stretched tight and wide in agony. His vocal cords cracked and rubbing raw. It erupted into the room and exploded over the mechanical ambience in Suzaku’s ears, causing his whole body to distantly vibrate as his mind plummeted into numb terror.
This wasn’t like when the Emperor had used his Geass—Suzaku remembered that well, the moment having deigned to torture him for weeks. That scream had been loud, but more subdued, and most certainly human…it rang of grief, betrayal and desperate panic.
This scream was feral—destroyed Lelouch’s throat. A scream of bloody murder. Not in fear or defeat, but in pain.
The sound of someone being ripped brutally open.
“…excuse me, young man—”
Amidst his pondering when Rolo would return, Lelouch turned around.
He came face to face with an older man—his short white hair in a fringe neatly combed to the side. He held himself with a confident, upper-class posture. He was clad in a dress shirt with a high-popped collar, under a velvety umber waistcoat…adorned with a matching tie in a loose bow. His expensive, but simple, appearance screamed minor nobility—perhaps a baron or viscount. Certainly not out of place at Babel…but why take such an interest in a common schoolboy?
Rolo had gone off to pay for bike parking, too, so he was stuck alone with this bizarre attention. Just great.
“May I talk with you for a minute?” the man asked. Lelouch frowned.
“…of course. As long as it’s not long. My brother should be back soon. What’s the matter?”
Truthfully, they should’ve been heading inside by now—Babel Tower was exclusive, and substitute games were typically set by appointment. He didn’t have time for this stranger.
But it’d been ten minutes, and Rolo still hadn’t come back…
The least he could do, especially to a noble, was be polite.
“What if I told you…that everything you think yourself to be, who you are, is but a lie?”
…what?
Lelouch’s face went blank.
What on earth was he talking about?
He had no reason to entertain such…nonsense!
“…are…are you sure you have the right person…?” he asked hesitantly. The strange man spared nary a second, doubling down on his previous question.
“Think, boy! Think back to your past! Your family!” he hissed, “Who were your parents?! Where did you live?! How did you end up here?!”
It was ridiculous. Just ridiculous. The conversation, while coherent, made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Every alarm bell inside Lelouch’s head was ringing—his mind churned over possibility after possibility, trying to deduce whether this was some secret code or nefarious ulterior motive.
He should not have answered—when in doubt, do not engage…
…and yet, in defiance of every rational part of his brain screaming at him, a deep, perplexing nagging inside his gut compelled him to answer.
“I’m Lelouch Lamperouge!” he insisted, the words stumbling out of his mouth themselves with unexpected desperation, “My parents are Vernon and Clara Lamperouge, and my younger brother is Rolo! We lived in the common districts in the middle of Pendragon. My parents sent the two of us to Area Eleven after the Black Rebellion, because of the reputation of Ashford Academy! I’m here because they wanted a better life for us!”
“Oh really? What a strange way to say it.” the old man raised an eyebrow, “What do their faces look like, then? What did your old home look like? What did you and your brother do when you were children? Concentrate!”
Hesitantly, Lelouch screwed his eyes shut. Searching for the ever-so-present and obvious appearances of his parents.
…images refused to appear.
“Rolo…they always said…he was mother’s spitting image.” He decided; a light stammer betrayed his confidence “I take after our father.”
“More words…” The man shot back, “Words, words, words. More statements. You sound like an encyclopaedia. I mean details, boy! Feelings! Can you see them?”
“Of course! I—”
…he broke down into silence.
Seconds passed by, slowing down as the world fell into numbness and a layer of cold washed over him. Lagging seconds of willing, digging inside, intuitively gathering at information the way he would recite famous chess openings.
Nothing.
Emptiness, like calling a phone, only for someone—something—to pick it up, but hear nothing on the other side. Not a breath. As if reaching for something that should feel real, but has been temporarily shelved away out of reach. Leaving the house at the very moment you forgot you left something inside…
His stomach fluttered as he concentrated harder—stubbornly waiting, pulling on his train of thought, following his intuition…
…A call with no answer.
“See? That’s because it’s a lie.” The old man insisted, “False memories of a false life. They can never reach a truly emotional, personal level—they’re more akin to superficial biographical facts, than anything else.”
He leaned forward, pressing something into Lelouch’s palm. Lelouch glanced down at the metal weight as the man pulled back.
It was a chainless fob watch—sleek, ornate silver. Expensive.
The more reasonable part of his brain exploded with questions, already anticipating a catch. Was this…some sort of scam? A bribery? For what?
…with what nonsense this man was rambling…perhaps he was in a cult? Perhaps this was some…weird induction tactic?
Perhaps he knew of Lelouch, and simply wanted a game?
If so, it was certainly a bizarre way to go about it!
“Everything you’ve lost—your real memories, your true identity—lies within this watch.”
No…
This guy was just insane.
“You expect me to believe this?” he scoffed, covering the tiny waver in his voice, “What are you after?”
“To help you.” The man replied, “I came across this watch some time ago—and I’ve been journeying to find its owner.”
“How did you know where to look? That it was me?” Lelouch pressed, playing along—ready to attack the foundations of his story.
“Because it told me.” He replied, quick and simple. “The essence inside did, at least. I can hear it.”
Lelouch swallowed. Something in his gut—in protest to his voice of reason—ominously somersaulted. The world around him fell away. The watch suddenly pulled his vision into its reflective lid—
“You could hear it too…if you listened carefully enough.”
His brain slowed down to a crawl—reason crumbling entirely, piercing through an incredulous fog. Something lulled him enough to silence his thoughts…
Whispers.
Hushed, barely audible—the high-pitched murmuring of a child, a deeper tone that sounded—
His blood ran cold—
It sounded like his own.
“Well, what are you waiting for? We don’t have much time!” the man insisted. “Open it!”
…forgetting all of his basic instincts, all sense of safety, Lelouch obeyed.
The lid of the watch clicked open. His legs buckled underneath him with a shaky gasp. His chest heaved as sensations exploded inside him—fire in his veins, dissipating into a rapid chill that shook his core. His cells rushed with energy…a panicked thumping erupted in the other side of his chest, to join his heart in tandem.
The feeling of reality disappeared around him. A dam had opened and sent a stream of foreign thoughts and feelings flooding into his mind…sights, sounds, people…flashes of places he’d never known before, things he never remembered—never considered a part of his reality. There was no distinction between up and down, real or unreal, anymore. Everything and nothing made sense. Simply confusion, as his very sense of identity crumbled beneath his feet…
…and he plummeted.
…peculiarly, as soon as it hard started, the storm began to subside.
As if they had never been alien to him at all, these mysterious thoughts and feelings...clicked. Everything he’d just been told…made perfect sense. Unfamiliar became familiar, truth became lies and lies became truth. New feelings welled deep in his chest—naivety and fear gave way to shock and bitterness…
To hot flashes of rage.
He came back to his body with a ragged gasp—a disconnected outsider, floating back inwards to his tether—numbness giving way to feeling. He blinked—the coolness of the air hitting his exposed eyes. He sluggishly, clumsily flexed his fingers—the sense of control washed back in.
The trembling hands simply became…his.
He was—
—was—
Who?
Who am I?
Lelouch…Lelouch? Yes, but…no. Not Lamperouge. Lamperouge was—
A pained groan hummed in his throat as he shut his eyes for desperate reprieve. He put a hand to his aching head, as if to stabilise the hurricane of thoughts that picked up and scattered the precious elements of order he’d once taken for granted.
Rolo…he had no younger brother—
Impostor!
Where’s Nunnally?
As his head swam, he moved his hand down to his chest—desperately grabbing for an anchor to himself, to realness.
He found it in the settling beats of his hearts.
That’s right—he was…he was…
—his mother…
Lady Marianne—
—beyond any mere human .
...other hands pressed against his shoulders as he swayed to his feet.
Those violet eyes peeled back open, glancing upwards at the man who—true to his word—had saved him.
…those eyes, no longer soft and boyish—for the person behind them was no longer Lelouch Lamperouge. And the ancient distance behind the blues eyes that bore back into his became all too familiar.
Lelouch vi Britannia—former Eleventh Prince of the Holy Britannian Empire—rose from the ashes.
“You’re…just like her…” He declared, “…one of my mother’s people—a Time Lord.”
The elderly face widened into a small smile. On any other, it would’ve been the gentleness of an affectionate grandfather. On this stranger, the eyes shone with something deeper—glee…knowing…triumph.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Your Highness.” came the prestigious lilt.
“…you may call me the Master.”