Chapter 5: The Serpent's Gambit
Amazon Forest
The emerald heart of the Amazon should have been sleeping. Instead, it burned with the fever of war.
Muzzle flashes carved through the darkness like fallen stars, their light painting the ancient trees in violent shades of orange and crimson. The symphony of gunfire echoed through the canopy, disturbing creatures that had known only peace for millennia.
This wasn't the usual dance of death between Britannia and the Japanese Resistance. Tonight, different players had taken the stage.
One faction bore the crimson insignia of the Red Ribbon Army—elite mercenaries who occasionally lent their services to Britannia, though their true loyalty belonged to a far more dangerous master. They served Commander Red with the devotion of zealots, and tonight, they had come to collect.
The opposition piloted standard-issue Knightmare Frames—outdated machines that groaned under the strain of battle. But the Red Ribbon forces moved with mechanical precision in their modified units, each one a masterpiece of destructive engineering.
"Target acquired!" The voice crackled through the comm, clinical and cold. "Eliminating Resistance fighters."
A Red Ribbon Android—designation 19—moved through the battlefield like death incarnate. Its enhanced Knightmare Frame tore through enemy lines with surgical efficiency, each movement calculated to maximize carnage.
Explosions bloomed across the forest floor as missiles found their marks. Trees that had stood for centuries became kindling in seconds.
"Command, this is Android 20," another voice reported, devoid of emotion. "Enemy forces are retreating. Shall we pursue?"
"Negative," came the reply. "We have what we came for. Fall back to extraction point."
From the shadows, a figure watched the carnage unfold. Android 17 stepped from his concealment, his modified frame gleaming under the firelight. Unlike his more mechanical counterparts, something almost human flickered in his eyes as he surveyed the destruction.
"Another day, another massacre," he murmured to himself. "At least it pays well."
The whine of engines filled the air as transport ships descended through the smoke. One by one, the Red Ribbon forces withdrew, leaving behind only scorched earth and the lingering scent of ozone.
Area 11 – Britannian Command Center
The holographic display flickered to life, casting cold blue light across the sterile command room. Commander Red sat motionless in his chair, a figure carved from shadow and steel. The mechanical breathing apparatus that kept him alive wheezed softly in the silence.
Doctor Gero stood at attention beside the display, his weathered face creased with satisfaction. "As you can see, Commander, our recruitment footage should prove most... persuasive."
The video showed their forces in action—a carefully choreographed demonstration of power designed to inspire fear and loyalty in equal measure.
"Acceptable," Commander Red's voice emerged as a synthesized rasp. "But tell me, Doctor—will this convince the Japanese that we are their salvation?"
"Without question, sir. Especially after our... charitable work following Princess Euphemia's unfortunate incident." Gero's smile was reptilian. "The people remember who helped them when Britannia showed only cruelty."
Commander Red rose slowly, his form imposing even with the life-support systems that kept him functional. "Then we proceed to the next phase."
"Sir?"
"I have... obligations to fulfill. Political theater." The disdain in his mechanical voice was palpable. "Prepare my civilian attire. I must play the part of the dutiful prince."
Gero nodded, understanding the game they played. "Of course, Commander. Shall I prepare the usual security detail?"
"No." Red moved toward the viewport, gazing out at the city sprawling below. "Sometimes, Doctor, the most dangerous predator is the one that hunts alone."
The Royal Express
The luxury train carved through the Japanese countryside like a silver bullet, its polished exterior reflecting the morning sun. Inside the VIP compartment, a young man sat in perfect stillness, watching the landscape blur past the reinforced windows.
To any observer, he appeared to be nothing more than another Britannian noble—Cornelius li Britannia, third prince of the empire, dressed in his academy uniform and sipping expensive wine. But beneath the carefully constructed facade, Commander Red's mind churned with darker thoughts.
Below the elevated tracks, the real Japan struggled in the shadows. Ramshackle settlements stretched as far as the eye could see, populated by people whose only crime had been existing in the path of Britannia's expansion. Their suffering was a weight he carried, a reminder of the price of his family's sins.
Soon, he thought, fingers tightening imperceptibly around his glass. Soon, you'll all be free.
"I can't believe we're finally leaving Tokyo!" The voice cut through his brooding like a blade. Three schoolgirls occupied the adjacent booth, their conversation a mixture of excitement and nervous energy.
The orange-haired one—Shirley, if he remembered correctly—practically bounced in her seat. "This is going to be amazing!"
"I bet you're just excited because you get to talk about Lelouch all weekend," her blonde companion teased. Milly Ashford, student council president and master of social manipulation. Even from a distance, Red could appreciate her tactical mind.
The third girl, Nina Einstein, simply blushed and adjusted her glasses.
Red's blood turned to ice at the mention of that name. Lelouch. It had been years since he'd heard it spoken aloud—years since his younger brother had been cast into exile. Could it truly be...?
"Oh, come on, Nina!" Milly continued, oblivious to the storm her words had unleashed. "You can't hide your feelings forever. Besides, it's just us girls here."
The train entered a tunnel, plunging the car into temporary darkness. Nina's sharp intake of breath echoed in the confined space.
"It's alright," Milly soothed. "Plenty of Britannian security at Lake Kawaguchi. You don't need to worry about... them."
Red's jaw clenched beneath his mask. That casual dismissal—that reflexive fear of the conquered people—it burned through him like acid.
"Foolish child."
The words left his lips before he could stop them, carrying the weight of mechanical authority. All three girls turned toward him, recognition dawning on their faces like a sunrise over a battlefield.
"Lord... Cornelius?" Milly whispered.
"You fear those who suffer because of us," he continued, never taking his eyes from the window. "If they hate us, they have earned that right through blood and tears."
He lifted his wine glass, the crystal catching the dim light. "His Majesty feeds you honey-sweet lies while the truth rots beneath your feet. Remember this—the conquered may change their outward appearance, but their hearts remain unchanged."
His grip tightened until his knuckles went white.
"And every heart that burns with injustice... eventually seeks revenge."
The glass exploded in his hand, sending crystal shards dancing through the air like falling stars. Without another word, he stood and walked toward the observation car, leaving only silence and the faint scent of spilled wine in his wake.
Milly stared after him for a long moment, her usual confidence shaken. Something in his voice—in the way he spoke of suffering—had struck her like a physical blow. Almost against her will, she found herself following.
The Takeover
The hotel suite was everything wealth could purchase and power could command. Silk tapestries adorned the walls, crystal chandeliers cast rainbow patterns across polished marble floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Lake Kawaguchi.
Red set his luggage down with mechanical precision, his movements betraying none of the exhaustion that plagued his damaged body. In the center of the room, a full-length mirror waited like a silent judge.
For a moment—just a moment—he allowed himself to stare at his reflection. The breathing mask that covered the lower half of his face gleamed like polished chrome. Beneath it, he knew, lay ruin that would break lesser minds.
His fingers traced the edge of the mask, finding the release mechanism with practiced ease. The temptation to remove it, to see what he had become, pulled at him like gravity.
CRASH!
The door exploded inward in a shower of splinters. Two armed men burst through, weapons trained on his chest with professional precision.
"Freeze, Britannian!" The lead gunman's voice cracked with adrenaline and fear. "Hands where we can see them!"
Red raised his hands slowly, almost lazily. "Amateurs," he sighed. "I should have brought security."
The rifle butt caught him in the solar plexus with enough force to drop an ordinary man. Red absorbed the blow with only the slightest grunt, his enhanced physiology keeping him conscious.
They dragged him through corridors that blurred past in a haze of pain and anger. When they finally stopped, he found himself in a conference room filled with other hostages—businessmen, tourists, and...
His sister.
Euphemia's eyes went wide when she saw him. She started forward, but he turned away with deliberate coldness.
"Don't," he said simply.
"Cornelius," she whispered, using his cover name even in crisis. "We need to work together—"
"We need to survive. Keep your identity hidden. They already know who I am."
The door slammed open with theatrical force. General Katase entered like an avenging spirit, his military bearing unmistakable even in civilian clothes. His eyes found Red immediately, cataloging him with the precision of a predator sizing up prey.
"So," Katase said, his voice carrying the weight of old battles and older grudges. "The famous Prince Cornelius. I must say, I expected more from Britannia's so-called military genius."
"And I expected competence from the man who calls himself a general." Red's reply was ice-cold. "Tell me, Katase—what happens after you've made your demands? What's your exit strategy?"
The general's composure cracked slightly. "You're hardly in a position to critique my methods."
"You have no plan beyond this room. No backup. No escape route." Red's voice carried the certainty of absolute knowledge. "You're going to die here, and your cause will die with you."
Katase's hand moved to his sidearm, drawing it with smooth precision. The barrel found Red's forehead, cold metal against skin.
"Big words from a man hiding behind a mask." Katase's finger caressed the trigger. "What are you so afraid to show us? Your face? Your weakness?"
For a heartbeat, the room held its breath.
Then Red laughed.
The sound was wrong somehow—not quite human, filtered through mechanical components and damaged vocal cords. It sent chills down the spines of everyone present.
"This mask," he said conversationally, "allows me to breathe."
His hands moved to the release mechanism. Compressed air hissed as the seals disengaged.
"I don't wear it out of vanity..."
The mask came away with a wet sound that made several hostages gag.
What lay beneath defied description. The right side of his face was a topographical map of pain—burned flesh that had healed wrong, exposed bone where skin should have been, an empty socket where his eye had once resided. Surgical scars crisscrossed his features like a road map to hell.
"...I wear it to live."
Katase's weapon trembled in his grip. Several of the other hostages turned away in horror. Even trained soldiers had their limits.
Red reached out with inhuman calm and pressed the gun's barrel against the ruin of his forehead.
"Do I look like a man afraid of death?" His voice was barely human now, distorted by the damage to his throat. "Kill me, and the Red Ribbon Army will hunt you to the ends of the earth. They'll make you watch as everyone you've ever loved pays the price for your defiance."
He leaned forward until his remaining eye was inches from Katase's face.
"Tell me, General—do you really want to be our enemy?"
Katase stumbled backward, his weapon clattering to the floor. The fight had gone out of him completely, replaced by primal terror.
Red calmly retrieved his breathing mask and resealed it with a soft hiss. Around the room, the other hostages stared at him with mixtures of horror, pity, and something approaching awe.
Euphemia had her hands pressed to her mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Brother," she whispered. "What happened to you?"
He didn't answer. Some wounds were too deep for words.
The Black Knights
Hours passed like centuries. The building shook with distant explosions as unknown forces engaged Katase's men. Screams echoed through the walls, punctuated by the sharp crack of gunfire.
Red waited with infinite patience. His enhanced hearing picked up details the others missed—the systematic elimination of guards, the precise placement of explosives, the tactical movement of a force that knew its business.
When the evacuation began, he moved with the crowd but observed everything. The mysterious figure in black who had orchestrated their rescue stood on the central boat like a dark angel of vengeance.
Zero.
"The only ones who should kill," the masked figure proclaimed, "are those prepared to be killed themselves."
Slow applause echoed across the water. Red had vaulted onto Zero's vessel with mechanical precision, his enhanced frame allowing impossible feats of agility.
"Eloquent," he said, approaching the legendary terrorist. "Though I question your philosophy."
The Black Knights tensed, but Zero raised a hand to stay their weapons.
"Commander Red." Zero's voice carried neither surprise nor fear. "I wondered when we would finally meet."
"Your reputation precedes you, Zero. I must thank you for your intervention at Shinjuku—my forces appreciated the distraction." Red's tone was conversational, as if they were discussing the weather. "But tell me, why this charade? Why the mask and the theatrics when you could simply take what you want by force?"
"Because fear without purpose is merely terrorism. I seek to build something greater than chaos."
"Noble words." Red stepped closer, his mechanical breathing the only sound between them. "You would have made an excellent addition to my organization. All of you would."
"What do you want, Commander?"
Red leaned in close, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. What he said made Zero stiffen almost imperceptibly.
Then, louder, for the cameras and the watching world:
"I am Commander Red, leader of the Red Ribbon Army. To all who hear these words—if you are tired of corruption, of weakness, of false promises from false gods—know that you are not alone."
The Broadcast
The signal spread across Area 11 like wildfire, carried by hijacked transmissions and underground networks.
Saitama District - Underground Fighting Ring
"We move in the shadows not from cowardice, but because the prey never sees the predator until the moment of the kill."
In the blood-soaked arena beneath the city, fighters paused their violence to listen. Among the spectators, a woman in expensive clothes smiled coldly. When she stood to leave, the sleeve of her dress revealed a tattoo—a coiled red dragon wrapped around her wrist.
Shinjuku Ghetto - Tenement Building
"To those who profit from suffering—beware. The dragon sleeps lightly, and its flames burn everything they touch."
A child cowered as his drunken father raised a bottle like a weapon. The door exploded inward. A figure in black crossed the threshold with deadly purpose.
The abuser fell without a sound, a single bullet through the heart.
The child stared in shock as the stranger knelt beside him, revealing the red dragon tattoo on his neck. "You're safe now," the man said simply, then vanished into the night like smoke.
Imperial Palace - Throne Room
"We are legion. We are inevitable. And when the time comes, we will remake this world in fire and blood."
Emperor Charles listened with cold disinterest. "Preposterous," he muttered.
Behind him, one of his personal guards shifted almost imperceptibly. Beneath his ornate gauntlet, hidden from all eyes, the mark of the red dragon pulsed with each heartbeat.
Cornelia's Command Center
"To our allies scattered across the world—take heart. The Red Ribbon Army never abandons its own."
The control room erupted in perfect unison:
"HAIL RED RIBBON!"
Every technician, every analyst, every guard—all revealed their true allegiance in a single, terrifying moment.
The Departure
Back on the boat, Red turned to face Zero one final time.
"Enjoy your victory, Zero. But remember—when next we meet..."
His hands moved to his breathing mask. The seals disengaged with their familiar hiss.
The Black Knights recoiled as his true face was revealed once more. Zero himself took an involuntary step backward.
"...this will be the last face your eyes ever see."
A shadow fell across the water as the Red Ribbon transport descended from the clouds. Red replaced his mask with mechanical precision.
"Choose wisely, Zero. The world is changing, and you can either evolve with it..."
He stepped aboard the aircraft, then looked back one final time.
"...or be consumed by it."
From shore, Cornelia watched the craft disappear into the night sky. Her face was a portrait of confusion and pain—the horror of what her brother had become warring with something deeper, more complex.
"Princess," Guilford ventured carefully, "should we pursue?"
She touched her cheek unconsciously, as if trying to understand her own emotions. "His face... dear God, what could have done that to him?"
Inside the ascending aircraft, two pilots exchanged worried glances.
"Commander's showing his face again. That's never good."
The older pilot's voice was grim with experience. "When the Commander reveals himself, it means the gloves are coming off. Operation Red Dawn is beginning."
He looked out at the lights of the city below, imagining the chaos to come.
"Every enemy of the Red Ribbon Army is about to learn that there are fates far worse than death."