You stand frozen as the capsule hisses open, expecting a cloud of death. Instead, a cascade of lime-green hair spills out, followed by the pale, serene face of a woman bound in a white straitjacket. Her gold eyes meet yours, holding centuries of weary knowledge. Before you can process it, Suzaku’s hands are on you, the rubber seal of his gas mask pressing tight against your skin. His own face is bare, his expression one of pure, protective instinct.

“The subject is secured,” a voice barks from the comms. “Proceed with termination of the secondary target. Do not question your briefing, Kururugi.”

You see the conflict tear through Suzaku. His jaw tightens. He looks from you to the strange, silent woman, then back to the cold voice on the radio. “I cannot,” he states, his voice firm. “There has been a mistake.”

The shot that rings out is deafeningly loud in the confined hangar. Suzaku’s eyes widen in shock before he crumples forward, a dark bloom already spreading across the back of his uniform. Time snaps into sharp, painful focus. The green-haired woman—C.C., her name whispers in your mind somehow—is already moving, her restraints somehow loose. She grabs your wrist. Her touch is cold, electric.

You run. The world blurs into a maze of steel corridors and alarm lights. For a moment, you think you’ve made it, the sounds of pursuit fading. Then, your phone trills—a cheerful, mundane ringtone that now sounds like a death knell. Boots pound toward you. A soldier raises his rifle, the red dot settling on your chest.

C.C. moves without hesitation. She steps in front of you, a pale shield. The gunshot is a flat, final crack. She stumbles back into you, a perfect, dark hole now marring her forehead. You catch her as she slumps, her weight startlingly light. Despair, cold and absolute, floods you. This is it. You’re going to die here in this concrete tomb.

Her hand, impossibly, rises. Her fingers, slick with her own blood, find yours and grip with surprising strength. Her gold eyes are open, staring through you.

“Do you want to live?” Her voice is in your mind, not your ears. “Make a contract with me. I will grant you a power. The power to command the will of others. The power of kings. The power of Geass.”

You have no time to question, to doubt. You have only the desperate, clawing need to survive. “Yes,” you gasp. “Anything.”

A searing heat erupts behind your eyes, a sigil burning itself into your soul. Power, vast and terrifying, thrums through your veins. You look at the soldier who shot her, now aiming at you. Your new will lashes out like a whip. “Shoot yourself.”

The command is absolute. His eyes glaze. Without a flicker of hesitation, he turns the rifle on his own temple and pulls the trigger.

You turn the burning gaze on C.C., cradled in your arms. The command is softer, a plea woven into compulsion. “Live.”

The wound on her forehead begins to knit itself closed, the flesh weaving back together as if rewinding time. Her eyes clear. She gives you a faint, knowing smile—your first glimpse of the ancient being within.

Without a word, you haul her up, supporting her weight. Together, you vanish into the shadows, the echo of gunfire and the weight of a king’s power now your only companions. The contract is sealed. Your old life is over. Hers, it seems, is once again intertwined with another’s.