[Round Zero: part 1]

[utopiamods]

At noon on the rest day, every screen in the campus lights up. It's the girl from the introduction again! She's grinning fit to burst, and her voice is bright and excited.

"Good morning, everyone! Round Minus-One is now officially over, so we'd like you to all report to the lobby for a special announcement, immediately! It starts in ten minutes, so don't be late."

The screens all go blank, before simply displaying the flashing text ALL STUDENTS REPORT TO THE LOBBY FOR 12:10.

Reaching the lobby, you find it empty of the usual staff. However, the doors to the tramstation are blocked by a large stage, spanning the entire south wall. In the centre stands the girl, in the flesh and just as sickeningly cheerful as her broadcast.

"Hi, everyone!" She waves, tilting sideways as she does so, and then clasps her hands together. "Wow, it's really great to see you all in person at last! You've all tried a lot harder this week, and it shows! We're really, really impressed with everyone. Ah, even though there was a bit of cheating..." she pouts, and shakes her head lightly, "But that's okay. We forgive you! You all know better now.

"But what we've called you here to say is this! We've been working extra hard too, and we've gotten a lot done with your help. So much that we're nearly ready for Round One!

"However..."

She's still smiling. It's a little unnerving, "We have to do some maintenance first, okay? And I'm afraid it would be a problem if you were all alive for that... you could cause us a lot of problems. So we're going to get rid of you for a little while. Think of this as a final test!"

She snaps her fingers, and your shadows disappear. No, not disappear. That's the wrong word. It's more like... they're abandoning you. Nearly forty pools of darkness flow up onto the stage, and suddenly explode upwards in tendrils and globs of black. The girl laughs as they finish changing, as they take on your shapes. As they reach into themselves and pull out inky replicas of your own weapons. They all laugh with her, in the emotionless tones of the Voice from your dreams.

"You can all draw your own weapons now, okay? Fight hard!"

[mod notice: NOW EVERYONE NEEDS TO READ THIS OOC POST BEFORE THEY REPLY.]

Comments

[forthward]

Well, it's not like she was going to even think of doing anything, other than have the wheelchair roll backwards a bit, away from this. Looking around for her family, brother... sister-- everyone else she knew were practically counted into her family as well, she fervently hoped everyone would be safe. That this was just something of a terrible prank.

[bitofafiction]

"Excuse me, miss."

On stage, Sherlock's shadow rises into the air, rapier in hand. Well of course it bloody does. He sighs and takes his hands out of his pockets; one of them is already holding his Exaclan glove.

"What's your weapon, if you don't mind my asking?"

[forthward]

"What..." Nunnally looked around to the stranger. Was it something inevitable now? But she was already bound to Suzaku-san... wasn't she? "It's a Key to a control panel... to Damocles," and it was something she didn't want to remind herself of. That she... had a weapon similar to Damocles. The very thing she had controlled for a period of time to kill people with.

[bitofafiction]

He draws his own weapon with an abstracted look in his eyes, staring neither at her nor at the shadow accelerating toward them but off into the distance.

"As far as I can tell, you are about to be facing it."

If he has anything more to say, he doesn't have time to say it, because that is when his shadow finds him. Sherlock manages to dodge its first attack and parry the second. He is very fast, but his shadow is faster; its sword is a thin black blur in the air. The only clear advantage he has, Sherlock quickly discovers, is that he can anticipate its moves better than it can anticipate his.

[forthward]

"Face it...?" Oh my god that was... worse than she could imagine. She knew what kind of powers her weapon had. Darting her eyes back to her own shadow she saw it had Damocles in its hand. "No! Don't--!"

She had to stop it, to get the key away from her counterpart. This couldn't happen, it was too dangerous.

[bitofafiction]

The tip of his shadow's sword scores his cheek, drawing blood. A little higher and he'd be missing an eye, or dead. He ducks to one side; the shadow easily avoids his counterattack.

[themerryway]

Euphemia doesn't know what to do. This entire thing feels unreal; her body heavy, she sees her sister, and her stomach sinks. She'd hoped her family had somehow managed not to come, but that hope is shattered. Euphemia manages to weave through the crowd, narrowly avoiding the swing of a sword, the heftiness of an axe.

She comes to Nunnally and Sherlock and grasps the push handle of her wheelchair. "Nunnally," she manages, breathing hard. She wants to help Sherlock, but she can't get in the way; what if he were to slip up because of her? "Are you okay?"

[forthward]

"Sister Euphie-- are you all right? I... I have to stop this! It has the Damocles--" Nunnally looks back at her sister, wide eyed and desperate. "We can't let this happen!" She was so relieved to see her sister was safe... and alive.

But again Nunnally was being helpless. It didn't make things better that she was in a wheelchair. It'd never stop bothering her, how she couldn't do anything.

[bitofafiction]

"Catch me if you can," his shadow taunts, darting backward across the open doorway. Its voice is hollow, with an echo that sounds inexplicably familiar, but what stops Sherlock dead in his tracks is the accent.

Tony's accent. Pure New York, nothing like Sherlock's.

Laughing, the shadow opens its arms to invite an attack. Sherlock stands where he is, sword held steady in front of him, and wipes at the blood on his face.

"No? All right, Sherry. Your loss."

It glances sidelong at the girls with a cold smile on its colourless face. That's all the further provocation Sherlock needs. His eyes widen and he charges forward with none of his usual finesse.

[themerryway]

Euphie silently cheers Sherlock on, hoping he would be okay. Her heart pounds in her chest, a steady rhythmic thing amidst all of this.

"The key to--" And then, the steady rattle of gunfire. Her eyes widen and she thinks to the weapon Suzaku pulled out of her. Does one of these things have that weapon? Yes, probably. "We... let's... let's go. Out of here. I'll bring you outside somewhere safe."

[forthward]

The shadow of Nunnally is silent, but she's smiling, her face mirroring the type of face her brother probably has made on several of his manic occasions. And she's raising the Key to Damocles, pressing the button to make sudden lasers to shoot toward people.

[bitofafiction]

His shadow's smile brightens as he nears it. That is not him, and it's not Tony, either. That is someone who sees no problem with threatening to murder Sherlock's friends just to get under his skin.

At the last possible moment, instead of attacking, Sherlock throws himself to the ground. The shadow misses its thrust, jumps back, hovers briefly in the air, and then dives for him.

Sherlock barely manages to twist out of the way. The point of the sword strikes the floor beside his left shoulder. Before he can think about it, and accordingly before his shadow can pull back, he reaches up and grabs the blade. Just past the hilt, where it isn't sharp yet.

It hurts anyway. Hurts quite a lot, actually. But that is not relevant data right now.

Several things happen in quick succession: Sherlock lunges up, tightening his grip to keep his shadow from flying out of reach. The shadow hisses and yanks back on its sword, pulling it far enough that Sherlock feels the blade slice into his palm, although it hardly makes a difference to the pain. He twists his hand, which isn't very good for his hand but does slow down his shadow's retreat long enough for him to run it through.

Its red eyes revert to the blank expression they had when it was first formed; it dissolves, taking its sword with it.

[themerryway]

One of the beams from Nunnally's -- no, it's not Nunnally's, it's that thing's-- weapon hits Euphemia. The laser burns through the uniform sleeve and cooks the flesh of her forearm, and she screams herself hoarse at the pain. It only connects for an instant before she wildly flails away from it, but it's enough to set her on her knees and involuntary tears down her face. She sits there for a moment, just trembling.

But she manages to stand again, the shock setting in. Stepping in front of Nunnally's wheelchair as though to shield her, she closes her eyes and reaches into herself, drawing her weapon. The pain is so intense she can barely think straight. But she even so, she manages to draw the weapon.

The ugly gun is in her hands, its weight heavy, but she can't remember how to fire it. She can't remember how to fire it. How could something so vital be taken from her when she needed it most? She cluelessly fumbles with it for a few moments before realizing Sherlock is there, he's hurt but he's alive.

"S-Sherlock! Please help!"

[forthward]

"Sister-!!" Nunnally screamed as her sister was hit, and stared at how she was pulling her weapon, unable to look away. This was too much, it was-- she didn't know what to do. Maybe she could use her own Key, but the... damage would be too big. Her counterpart was already using a Key. She jumped as one laser hit the side of her chair, and when she tried to move away, she realized that it'd rendered it immobile. It'd hit the control panel of her chair.

ITT GORE.

[bitofafiction]

A laser scorches the wall by Sherlock's head. His left hand is thoroughly nonfunctional; he can see the white glint of three metacarpals through the gash in his palm and his first two fingers have not quite been cut in half.

When the next laser strikes the ground as he climbs to his feet, Sherlock moves his hand into the path of the beam before it stops. That hurts almost as much as grabbing his duplicate's sword, and if those fingers were salvageable before they certainly aren't now, but he is no longer bleeding and that will have to do.

Ignoring the smell of burned flesh and the blood all over his clothing, he staggers to Euphemia's side and offers her his rapier hilt-first. "Trade?"

[themerryway]

"Y-yes," she says, and hands the gun over, unsurely taking the rapier in hand. "Can you... help protect us? I have to... to bring Nunnally outside."

She's never trained with a sword, despite Cornelia wanting her to, and she regrets it now. Holding the sword in her not-as-crispy arm, she turns to Nunnally. She rushes over to check her for injuries.

"You're okay," she says with relief.

[forthward]

"Y-you're not-- Sister Euphie..." Nunnally reaches out, but stops without touching her, because it looks like it hurts. She feels horrible about this. It was her shadow's doing, and her weapon. It did this. She grips the sides of her chair. "I'm... I'm sorry... It's my fault."

She wants to tell her sister to run to safety without her. The chair is broken and won't roll, and there's no way Euphie could carry her with an injured arm, but the only sound that comes over her lips as she opens her mouth is a choked one, eyes widening in surprised shock. "W...what--?"

The laser goes through both her chest and the chair, and she slowly sags down in the wheelchair.

[bitofafiction]

Just a few seconds. Just a few bloody seconds to familiarize himself with the model, turn the lever from S to E, and look up.

Too late.

He aims for the dead girl's airborne shadow and fires. Twice.

[forthward]

The shadow goes down on the first shot, even!

wii tag HAHA...

[themerryway]

"Nunnally--"

It's too late. Euphemia watches in dull horror as the beam slides through her sister's chest and narrowly avoids going through her own. Unable to move, the pain in her mangled arm and the pain of losing her sister right in front of her feel as though it may drive her mad.

She doesn't know what to do. The only thing she can manage do is sit there and hold the gory, cooling hand of her dead sister, crying all the while.

What would she tell Lelouch?

[bitofafiction]

If he had a hand to hold it in, or even a sheath, he'd ask for his sword back. He doesn't. Sherlock scans the room for targets. There isn't time for him to lean against the wall and throw up for a while, even if he would very much like to.

The girl on the stage is the most prominent option. Human, not shadow, but clearly instrumental to all this. It is a logical hypothesis that taking her out would remove the head from the proverbial snake. Logical and easy to test.

The moment he has a clear shot, he takes it.

[queenscheckmate]

Kallen had been walking in front of the stage at the time and heard that shot go off. Watch where you're aiming, asshole. That almost hit her. Sadly, that got her attention and she makes her way over.

"What do we have here...? The mass murderer of my people and some dumb boy who thinks he can play the violin."

[themerryway]

Euphemia manages to look up to see the source of the new voice, hand still entwined with Nunnally's, her sister's blood stained down her front. It's a shadow, that's the first thing that she notices. A shadow with a gun.

Fear grasps her heart and she moves away from Nunnally's limp body, scrambles back and then onto her feet and dashing, a scared wail coming out of her mouth without her even knowing. She doesn't want to die, she doesn't want to die, she doesn't want to die.

[queenscheckmate]

"I guess I should return the favor. You killed a lot of people that day. Do you remember? The screaming children, the grunts of their fathers trying to protect them? The cries of the women in pain? Perhaps I should make you relive the fear they felt that day."

Kallen didn't think twice about gunning the woman down. Royalty or not, this was her shadow's heart felt revenge. She shrugs and moves away from the scene before Sherlock can react, going after someone else.

[themerryway]

She doesn't hear Kallen. Not over the roar of the crowd; the gunfire, the moans and cries, the shouts and screams. The sword she'd taken has been dropped and she doesn't look back. Only looks forwards, running towards the entrance, one foot after the other. Fear and breathing become one.

And then the bullets rip through her back into her front, an insane pain blossoming through her chest and stomach, and she doesn't realize she's fallen until she's on the ground. The wounds don't hurt, as she lays there; they just sting when she moves. So Euphemia lays still. Her blood is warm, ever so warm, and it nearly feels comforting.

As she bleeds out on the floor of the lobby, Euphemia wonders where her brother is. Where her knight is. She hopes they're okay.