As I just got back from watching my sister walk for her Masters, a bit of a teaser in celebration.
A man's voice speaks, it has a slightly clipped tone, as if he were a man accustomed to military precision and finds it difficult to speak in any format
that does not involve a quick and rapid report to a superior officer, "In the year 2303 atb, the 40th year of the reign of Empress Rose vi Britannia II, a
crisis arose concerning the succession to the throne. Rose II's eldest son had died in an accident and the Empress herself was in poor health, leaving the
direct line of succession on the shoulders of the newborn child of her son. The choice of who would become the child's regent in the event that the Empress
perished caused the nobility of Britannia to fragment." A map appears on the screen of world, revealing a much reduced Britannian influence on the world
stage. As he continues to speak, the Britannian map breaks down further, several different coats of arms appearing, centered on different regions. The
largest of these includes the northeastern part of the North American continent.
"In the confusion of a brief and vicious civil war, the heir to the throne vanished without a trace before the United Nations could step in to restore
peace. According to popular belief at the time, the Empress had been so stricken with grief over having lost both her only child and first grandchild in such a
short time that she withdrew entirely from public life, leaving many of the day-to-day functions of imperial rule to a Regent, the Duke of New York."
Several parts of the fragmented Britannian state reassemble themselves, though the western half of the Empire, from the Rocky Mountains west, remains
unresolved.
"People will believe what they want to believe. In the year 2322 the truth will no longer be kept silent."
A cut.
A woman, little more than a girl really, staggers in from a door. It seems to be a lab somewhere, but most of the lights are out. She seems to be held
together as much with bandages as anything else and her one, visible eye shows signs of madness. A vacant grin splits her face as she intones, "The Fear
is going to swallow you up."
Another cut.
A woman's hand, clad entirely in a black, matte finish glove with a subtle gripping surface on the inside, the hand is pointing to the right side of the
screen through darkness. "What are you doing here? Who are you? According to our records the only thing here is supposed to be Zero's final trump
card, his restored Knightmare from the War of Two Kings."
Another hand, a man's hand, but very slight, bare. The cuff of either a heavy, black shirt or a coat can be seen falling from the wrist, the hand does not
point but instead gestures the first and middle fingers extended, the thumb slack and the ring and pinky fingers curled up loosely. It points in opposition to
the first hand. "You came seeking a weapon and only found a man?" the owner of the hand inquires, "If a weapon I am than I weapon I shall
be."
A rapid series of cuts follows.
Hands spider their way across a pair of keyboards, at a great rate of speed.
A woman with veins bulging out at her temples begins to laugh hysterically as blood seeps from her nose.
A different woman chuckles as the skin on her arm splits open slightly at the shoulder, the injury forming the Sign of the Geass. Her other hand quickly moves
to coil a bandage around the injury.
The man from earlier, who suggested he could 'be a weapon' snarls, "You may not break into the storehouse of God and expect to escape without
punishment!"
A huge display over what can only be Times Square, three hundred years in the future, suddenly fills with static, and a moment later the image of a figure
dressed entirely in black and violet appears on the screen, a familiar, black mask concealing his features. "From beyond the grave has the blood of
Britannia's sins called me forth once more." The figure pauses for a moment and sweeps his arms out. "I am ZERO!"
A teacup lowers down and places itself in a saucer as the camera swings outwards, revealing a high backed chair sitting on a grassy hill that exists nowhere on
Earth. High overhead hangs the ever watchful gaze of Jupiter over the scene and, here and there, various portraits float in the sky without any visible means
of support. "Ah. I feel like a proper Britannian gentleman again..." murmurs the voice of the man who described himself as a weapon.
More later.
- Grumpy Uncle Gearhead
A man's voice speaks, it has a slightly clipped tone, as if he were a man accustomed to military precision and finds it difficult to speak in any format
that does not involve a quick and rapid report to a superior officer, "In the year 2303 atb, the 40th year of the reign of Empress Rose vi Britannia II, a
crisis arose concerning the succession to the throne. Rose II's eldest son had died in an accident and the Empress herself was in poor health, leaving the
direct line of succession on the shoulders of the newborn child of her son. The choice of who would become the child's regent in the event that the Empress
perished caused the nobility of Britannia to fragment." A map appears on the screen of world, revealing a much reduced Britannian influence on the world
stage. As he continues to speak, the Britannian map breaks down further, several different coats of arms appearing, centered on different regions. The
largest of these includes the northeastern part of the North American continent.
"In the confusion of a brief and vicious civil war, the heir to the throne vanished without a trace before the United Nations could step in to restore
peace. According to popular belief at the time, the Empress had been so stricken with grief over having lost both her only child and first grandchild in such a
short time that she withdrew entirely from public life, leaving many of the day-to-day functions of imperial rule to a Regent, the Duke of New York."
Several parts of the fragmented Britannian state reassemble themselves, though the western half of the Empire, from the Rocky Mountains west, remains
unresolved.
"People will believe what they want to believe. In the year 2322 the truth will no longer be kept silent."
A cut.
A woman, little more than a girl really, staggers in from a door. It seems to be a lab somewhere, but most of the lights are out. She seems to be held
together as much with bandages as anything else and her one, visible eye shows signs of madness. A vacant grin splits her face as she intones, "The Fear
is going to swallow you up."
Another cut.
A woman's hand, clad entirely in a black, matte finish glove with a subtle gripping surface on the inside, the hand is pointing to the right side of the
screen through darkness. "What are you doing here? Who are you? According to our records the only thing here is supposed to be Zero's final trump
card, his restored Knightmare from the War of Two Kings."
Another hand, a man's hand, but very slight, bare. The cuff of either a heavy, black shirt or a coat can be seen falling from the wrist, the hand does not
point but instead gestures the first and middle fingers extended, the thumb slack and the ring and pinky fingers curled up loosely. It points in opposition to
the first hand. "You came seeking a weapon and only found a man?" the owner of the hand inquires, "If a weapon I am than I weapon I shall
be."
A rapid series of cuts follows.
Hands spider their way across a pair of keyboards, at a great rate of speed.
A woman with veins bulging out at her temples begins to laugh hysterically as blood seeps from her nose.
A different woman chuckles as the skin on her arm splits open slightly at the shoulder, the injury forming the Sign of the Geass. Her other hand quickly moves
to coil a bandage around the injury.
The man from earlier, who suggested he could 'be a weapon' snarls, "You may not break into the storehouse of God and expect to escape without
punishment!"
A huge display over what can only be Times Square, three hundred years in the future, suddenly fills with static, and a moment later the image of a figure
dressed entirely in black and violet appears on the screen, a familiar, black mask concealing his features. "From beyond the grave has the blood of
Britannia's sins called me forth once more." The figure pauses for a moment and sweeps his arms out. "I am ZERO!"
A teacup lowers down and places itself in a saucer as the camera swings outwards, revealing a high backed chair sitting on a grassy hill that exists nowhere on
Earth. High overhead hangs the ever watchful gaze of Jupiter over the scene and, here and there, various portraits float in the sky without any visible means
of support. "Ah. I feel like a proper Britannian gentleman again..." murmurs the voice of the man who described himself as a weapon.
More later.
- Grumpy Uncle Gearhead