Disclaimer: I do not own Gunslinger Girl, and I have no intention of profiting from this story.
Warning: This story is rated T for a reason. There is some description in here that may offend some readers. This is not meant on purpose.
Pavlov's Lament - A Gunslinger Girl Fanfiction
There was something terribly nostalgic about the smell of gunpowder. At least, that was Henrietta's opinion. It brought happy memories of long hours learning the intricacies of her weapons and herself on the shooting range with Giuseppe. He had certainly taught her many things there. It almost made her smile. In fact, she would have smiled if another round of gunfire hadn't struck the table that she and Triela were hiding behind.
The older girl did not even flinch. Instead she just continued to bandage the gunshot wound on her arm. It had been a ricochet, a pure accident. Few terrorists had the ability to hit Triela on purpose. Henrietta knew the girl was simply that good. None of the terrorists so far had been anywhere near her level. Only bad luck had caused her to get hit.
"Are you okay Triela? It looks like it went deep." She asked between rounds of gunfire.
Triela smiled, "Its no big deal, it just tore a muscle. Hilshire will probably scold me, though."
Triela finished with her makeshift bandage and pulled it tight. The blood had already ruined much of her shirt, so she had ripped off the end of the sleeve to create the bandage. She moved the shoulder around a bit, testing its range of movement, before finally picking up the submachine gun beside her. She hefted it carefully, once again testing the arm's range of movement. Finally she looked at Henrietta. "Are you ready to go?"
Henrietta nodded and smiled back. Without another thought, both girls rose as one and opened fire. Two men who had been sent forward to investigate the lull in gunfire went down immediately; the girls' accurate fire quickly riddling them full of holes. A second later, another man's head exploded, courtesy of Triela. The remaining terrorists, either wiser or simply luckier than the others, remained behind their own cover and once again began scattered counterfire.
Henrietta reloaded her assault rifle and looked at Triela for direction. The girl appeared deep in thought, though every once in a while she would rise up above the table they were using as cover and return fire into the hall. Triela was perhaps the closest thing the girls had to a leader, and certainly the best tactician. She was the smartest, the kindest, and had the best record for completing missions. Henrietta also thought she was the prettiest, but even she would never admit that to Triela.
"Henrietta," whispered Triela, "I have a plan."
Henrietta nodded and leaned in close to listen. "I've counted a total of five bad guys remaining. Two behind the hallway wall, one behind the table to our left, and the other two directly in front of us behind the soda machine. Do you have any smoke grenades left?"
Henrietta nodded and checked her pockets, though she already knew the answer. "I've got two."
Triela smiled. "Two? Great. Give me one, and you keep the other. On the count of three, I'll throw mine at the gap between the wall and the table. You move and flank the man behind it while I provide covering fire," Henrietta nodded, "When he's out of the picture, throw yours down the hall and take those two out. I'll use that distraction and take the opportunity to take out the other two. Got it?"
"I'm ready," confirmed Henrietta as she shifted into a position that allowed her to sprint easier.
Triela waited patiently for almost a minute, carefully setting up a pattern of fire to lull the enemy. Then she began a slow countdown. When she finally reached three, Henrietta dashed off without a backward glance to see if the other girl had even thrown the grenade. She simply trusted that the older girl would do as she had planned. They were veteran of many missions together, and had gained that trust through mutual respect and friendship. Not to mention that taking the time to look back would ruin their time-table.
Henrietta heard a burst of fire come from in front of her, and braced herself for an impact. Fortunately for her, none came. Then she heard the familiar and comforting sound of Triela's own weapon as she began to provide covering fire. Things were going as planned.
Henrietta entered the smoke cloud caused by the grenade. It stung her eyes and clouded her vision, but she ignored it and continued running. The sound of gunfire was all around her now, but she didn't let that stop her either. She had a task to finish and a mission to complete. That was all that mattered.
She emerged from the smoke, gun lowered and already firing. The man behind the table had barely begun to turn when a burst caught him from hip to shoulder. The man fell to the ground with a muffled keening noise. He was trying to scream, but the bullets had pierced both lungs. Henrietta paid it no mind.
Instead, the remaining smoke grenade was already in her hand, cocked and ready to throw. She waited for a lull in the gunfire and then pitched the grenade. Before it had hit the ground, she was already moving.
There was no cover in the hallway, which meant that Henrietta had only luck and the frail smokescreen to protect her. She didn't let that stop here. With the bullets flying all around her, she did what she thought seemed most sensible. The floors of the building were remarkably well polished. So Henrietta hit the floor and slid, doing her best to stay under the bullets.
She slid past the corner that the terrorists were using as coving and hit the far wall feet first. Not even pausing to stand, she brought her rifle up and around. She saw the two terrorist huddled behind the corner. Both of them hadn't had time to fully react to her sudden appearance, and were still in the process of turning to face her. Unfortunately for them, that is when Henrietta's short burst hit them. The man took three shots to the stomach and folded over in pain before falling to the ground. The woman screamed and clutched her hand, which was now missing several fingers.
Henrietta climbed to her feet quickly, not moving her gun from the screaming terrorist. The woman wasn't even looking at her; she had gone into shock. Henrietta's orders had been to capture a terrorist if possible. This was a perfect opportunity to do so.
However, as Henrietta cautiously began to move to secure the woman, the screaming stopped and the woman seemed to come to. She looked groggily about for a moment before catching sight of Henrietta and began to frantically search for a weapon with her good hand. Henrietta put a bullet in her head before she could find one.
Henrietta scanned the hallway for additional enemies, but it was clear. The gunfire from the other room had stopped as well. She let herself relax a bit and stared moodily at the dead woman's body. Another chance for praise from Giuseppe gone. What had the woman been thinking? Going for a gun in a situation like that? It was stupid. And now she was dead.
Triela walked down the hall with her gun on her shoulder, her shirt now even more spattered with blood. She looked at Henrietta; then looked at the corpse. She frowned at Henrietta and stood with her free hand on her hip. "Don't moon over a corpse, Henrietta. We've got more work ahead of use today and they'll be plenty more made before we're done."
"But Giuseppe said to take one alive if possible!" sulked Henrietta.
Triela's frown softened into a slight smile. "You can get one for Giuseppe later. He won't care if it wasn't this one."
Henrietta nodded reluctantly and smiled back. Triela brought her weapon back into firing position and grinned, "Shall we go them?"
With a final regretful look back at the corpse, Henrietta nodded and followed.
Sunlight poured through the small window of Henrietta' room as she lovingly tuned the strings of her violin. Rico and Jean were out on a mission today and she had the room to herself. It was a rare luxury for any of the girls to have time and space to themselves. And even more exciting, Giuseppe had stopped by and asked to hear her play.
He had seemed distracted when he had walked into her room, but she had relegated it to the back of her mind as soon as she had heard his request. As she bustled around the room gathering her materials and equipment, she had watched Giuseppe out of the corner of her eye as she always did when she was around him. He had wearily walked across the room and had almost fallen into her chair. She knew it was partially her fault. Today had been her monthly evaluations.
"Do you have a request, Giuseppe?" she asked when she was ready.
He thought about the question for a moment, and then shrugged. "Something relaxing, Henrietta. Something to take my mind off…things."
She nodded, thought for a moment, and then smiled. She bowed to Giuseppe, and then brought the bow of the violin to the strings. The song that issued forth from the instrument was very simple, but at the same time incredibly heartfelt. She watched as Giuseppe slowly closed his eyes and relaxed into the music. It made her smile. Unfortunately, the piece was also incredibly short, and Henrietta was done with it in less than five minutes.
When she finished, she let the violin drop awkwardly to her side and turned to face Giuseppe, who broke into applause and made her blush in pleasure.
"I hadn't heard that piece before Henrietta. Who is it by?" He asked.
Henrietta blushed even redder. "Umm…Well…I wrote it, Giuseppe."
Giuseppe looked surprised. "Really, Henrietta? When did you start writing your own music?"
Henrietta shyly broke eye contact and stared at the ground. "Last month. Claes found a couple of books about the theory behind it, and I haven't been able to get them out of my head," she nervously brought her eyes to meet his own once again. "Was it…good? You're the first person besides Claes who's heard it."
Giuseppe smiled. "It was wonderful, Henrietta. If you keep it up, you might be a master composer someday."
Henrietta's shy smiled positively blossomed as she tried to hide her almost completely red face. "I'd like that…I'd like that a lot," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.
Giuseppe's face seemed to freeze and Henrietta whirled to see what was the matter; ready to use even her precious violin to defend her handler. Scanning the room, she saw nothing out of place. Lowering the violin, she turned to face Giuseppe. "Is there something the matter? I see no enemies."
Giuseppe's face unfroze with remarkable speed and he shot her a look that she was unable to read. This look disappeared with the same speed as the other as Giuseppe turned away from her. When he spoke, it was in a cold and distant tone she rarely heard him use. "I'm fine, Henrietta. Thank you for your concern."
Henrietta almost recoiled from her handler, but controlled her reaction, somehow. She turned stiffly away from Giuseppe, and began put her musical equipment away. Something had bothered Giuseppe, and if it hadn't been an enemy, the only other option was herself. She thought over everything that had transpired in the past few minutes, and only found one conclusion that made any sense. She fidgeted unhappily for a moment before reluctantly speaking, "I…I'll stop composing if it bother you that much, Giuseppe."
He turned and gave her a shocked look."No! Henrietta, I didn't mean it like that!...I…I…Hell, I don't even really know what I mean," he turned away from her again, covered his face with his hands, and took a few deep breaths. "It's just…Henrietta…Do you like being here? Do you like your job here?"
Henrietta's answer was prompt, but confused. "Of course I do, Giuseppe. Is there a reason why I shouldn't?"
Henrietta could tell that something in her answer had bothered Giuseppe, but she couldn't figure out what. What was there to dislike about what she did and where she lived. She loved it here.
Giuseppe did not turn around, but strangely seemed to gather his courage for a second question, "Why do you like it, Henrietta?"
This question required a little more thought, but not much. "Because I get to see and work with you, Giuseppe! That alone makes it worth getting up each day! And I get to spend time with the others, too, I guess. That's fun, as well. I can't imagine living any other way."
Henrietta could tell that that answer had also made Giuseppe uncomfortable, but he seemed nowhere as near surprised by it. She waited patiently for another question, but after a few moments, the silence seemed to become painfully drawn out. Fearing that she had been misunderstood, Henrietta began to speak quietly. "After all, if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here. You picked me out of all the girls that you could have chosen. Whatever painful life I left behind can't be anything compared to this…" she turned away to hide her blush, "I'd do anything for you, Giuseppe."
Due to her embarrassment, Henrietta completely missed her handler's look of complete and utter terror.
Only long hours of training and Triela's calm efficiency had kept Henrietta from going insane. After clearing the obstacles from the hallway on the floor below, they had advanced with little to no resistance and even less trouble. Until they had reached the floor's hallway, at least.
The hallway was any urban warfare specialist's worst nightmare. It was long, narrow, and had rooms every fifteen feet or so. It seemed to be either a hospital or a dormitory. Whatever the floor was, it was a slow and dangerous, not to mention nerve-wracking, process to clear it. They moved as a team down the hallway, checking each room for hostiles. Triela would enter the room to search and Henrietta would simultaneously cover her and watch the hallway from the door.
It was driving her mad. It had taken almost half an hour to cover half the hallway, and it would likely take just as long to cover the rest. They hadn't even found any enemies, so far. Hostage rescue missions depended on speed, and with only the two of them covering this area, they had lost whatever advantage they had had. But neither was it something they really could avoid. Enemies could be hiding behind any of the hallway doors, waiting to ambush them as soon as they passed. Or even wait to ambush less heavily armed and armored personnel following them in. Either way, it made the task necessary, even with only the two of them. That didn't mean that Henrietta was happy with it; she simply didn't complain about it aloud.
Of course, that didn't mean she hid it terribly well, either. As they carefully moved down the hallway towards the next door, Triela leaned over, gave her a little hug, and whispered, "Don't worry. We'll be back in time for dinner. Be patient a little longer, Henrietta. We're already halfway done with this hallway. The maps said we only had on of these. After this it'll be quick."
Henrietta made a face, but after a few moments, she couldn't help but smile back. Triela and Claes were really rubbing off on each other lately. Triela wouldn't have been nearly this calm even just a few months ago.
They reached the next door without any trouble, and with a muted sigh Henrietta took her place by the door. When Triela was in position and had signaled her readiness, Henrietta pulled the door open and braced herself for a possible barrage of fire. When none came, Trela cautiously moved into the room, and Henrietta moved forward to cover her.
Triela's search was quick but efficient. A quick scan of the room, followed by a short circle of the room. Then she checked under the bed, and then cautiously opened the closet. In the mean time, Henrietta did her best to divide her attention between the hallway and Triela's search. This operation worked best with three people; one to search, one to cover the searcher, and one to cover the hallway. Unfortunately, all of the other eligible girls were on other missions when the hostage situation had arisen. So the job had fallen to Triela and Henrietta, both of whom had been enjoy a rare day off.
Triela gave Henrietta the all clear signal, and Henrietta moved forward to let her pass, and then closed the door. When it was closed, both of them relaxed a little and began to move down towards the next doorway.
"We haven't heard much from outside today," commented Henrietta.
Triela shrugged and quickly checked over her weapon. "Why should they? They know just as well as we do what we are up against."
Henrietta's head dropped a little and she let out a small sigh. "Yeah, but still…I wish they were telling us how we are doing…"
Triela shot Henrietta an exasperated look that made the other girl blush, "Just think of it as them showing confidence in us."
Henrietta thought about Triela's comment for a moment, before letting a small smile appear on her face. That was a far more appealing interpretation. They'd done this kind of scenario many times, after all, both in training as actual operations. Why shouldn't they be able to handle it themselves?
They reached the next doorway with no trouble and took their positions at the door, once again. Unlike the last time, however, when Henrietta threw open the door, a line of bullets traced its way towards Triela. The older girl reacted in time to roll to the right and the cover of the wall. Henrietta would have made a similar move to the left if terrorists hadn't thrown open several doors down the hallway, leaned out, and began to take aim.
"Triela, front!" warned Henrietta, before taking a step to be clear of the doorway, dropping to one knee and drawing a bed on a terrorist who had leaned just a little too far out from his cover.
Henrietta heard Triela begin to fire from behind her, and pulled the trigger on her own weapon. The burst of fire took the terrorist right in the head and he toppled over without another sound. The two others that Henrietta could see didn't flinch, and began to return fire of their own. She shifted positions slightly to insure that Triela was completely covered, and then did her best to ignore the incoming fire. The bullets hit all around her, shattering against the floor; sending pieces of bullets and the floor everywhere. She felt several of the pieces bite into her legs, but she ignored them. She took her time aiming; the terrorists had cover, no matter how flimsy and wild fire would only drive them behind it.
Her patience paid off when one of the terrorists, trying to do the same thing she was, leaned forward a little too far. Henrietta's shot caught him in the throat and upper chest, and he fell with a muffled gurgle and brief spray of blood. The final terrorist quickly retreated behind his cover, much to her irritation.
In the brief respite, Henrietta took the opportunity to check her surroundings. The gunfire had stopped in the room behind her, and Triela had disappeared into the room. She had probably silenced her targets and had moved into the room to confirm the kills. She'd be finished in a moment, and then it'd be two against one. Henrietta also noted in the cold, clinical part of her brain that she had been hit. The two shrapnel wounds on her legs were not serious for a cyborg and had already stopped bleeding. She had also somehow ended up with a deep scratch on her face and another one along her right arm, both bleeding, but neither serious.
She again brought her full attention to bear on what she assumed was the last terrorist. As far as she could tell, he hadn't moved for behind the cover of the door. Without knowing the status of the men inside, or Triela, she was unwilling to move on the man on her own. So, yet again, she waited.
It wasn't for long, however, for in less than a minute, the man threw himself out from behind his cover. He sprinted down the hallway towards her, screaming and firing wildly. Henrietta didn't even both dodging; his bullets weren't going anywhere near her. She simply aimed, pulled the trigger, and watched the man's eye explode.
She didn't even bother to watch him fall. Before his body had hit the ground, she had begun to move back to confirm that Triela had secured the room. From the doorway, she couldn't hear anything, so after a moment, she cautiously peeked around the corner, and saw nothing but bodies. There was no sign of Triela.
Slightly worried, she stepped cautiously, gun at the ready. A more thorough scan still did not reveal Triela, so she began to search the room with a growing sense of dread. Two of the three bodies were of large men, so Henrietta carefully rolled them over with her foot. Triela wasn't under either of them. She continued towards the back of the room.
She was about to open the door to the closet when she heard a noise coming from behind her. It was like a muffled gurgle. She spun around, her gun instantly in firing position. Only the bed was in front of her, she had confirmed all of the bodies in between were dead. That meant that whatever was making the noise was under the bed, and considering the small space between the floor and the bed, there weren't many options for who it could be. Reluctantly she left the closet unsearched, and headed towards the bed.
Kicking one of the corpses away from the bed, Henrietta took a deep breath before kneeling and looking under the bed. To her surprise, there was indeed a body under the bed, but it wasn't Triela's. Well, to be specific, it was a man's body with Triela's hand around its throat. The body was very dead; the gurgle had probably been the last of its air leaving the body. It was encouraging, but as the hand had not moved, she still couldn't be sure of Triela's status.
"Triela, are you okay?" Henrietta whispered.
The hand was still for a moment, but suddenly twitched and moved out of sight. The corpse began moving, and Henrietta quickly caught on and grabbed the man's shirt and began pulling. It took a few good yanks, but the corpse finally slid out from under the bed. Triela quickly followed.
She looked much the worse for wear. The start of a very nasty bruise covered her left eye, and her already damaged arm had begun bleeding once again. What remained of her blouse only remained on by the virtue of the left sleeve; the rest looked as if someone had been trying to rip and tear it off her. Judging by the bruises and scratches under what remained of the rest of the blouse, Henrietta found it highly likely.
"Gah, he nearly got me," muttered Trela, as she stretched. There was a loud pop as something moved back into place, and Triela winced. She gave herself a quick scan and plucked mournfully at the remains of her shirt. "Hilshire's going to be angry at me again for ruining another shirt,' she sighed, "Though it is his fault for always buying me things that are dry clean only."
Henrietta giggled, as she flipped over the single female corpse, and began to remove its' shirt. After all, Triela couldn't complete the mission in little more than her bra. That wasn't dignified enough for a girl of
the Agency. They must always look like perfect little girls. And the corpse's shirt had only a little blood around the collar and no bullet holes, so it was perfectly serviceable. Plus it was Triela's size anyway.
Triela removed the tattered blouse with a sigh and gratefully accepted the corpse's shirt from Henrietta. Without a second thought, she immediately slung it over her shoulders and began to button it up. Without any addition prodding from Henrietta, she began to explain what had happened. "It was my fault," she signed regretfully, " I thought that I had taken them all out in one burst, but when I went in to check, this guy," she gave the offending corpse a little kick, "Jumped me from behind while I was checking one of the other bodies. He somehow got my gun away from me; he hit my injured arm, I think, and then threw me under the bed. He followed for some reason. I guess he thought his size and weight would give him some advantage in that small space," she paused and frowned, looking a bit confused and offended "Then he started to rip off my shirt and feel me up. I strangled him."
Henrietta giggled as she passed Triela her weapon. "It's kind of funny to think that the Princess was brought down and pushed under a bed by a common terrorist."
Triela rolled her eyes, "Don't you get started, too, Henrietta. I hear it all the time from everyone else at the Agency. I do make mistakes you know. I'm not perfect," she said, sounding somewhat exasperated.
Henrietta laughed, but unshouldered her weapon and moved toward the door. Triela quickly followed suit. The fun part was over and it was time to get back to work. They still had half a hallway to check.
The uncomfortable silence after Henrietta's confession had stretched on for more than an hour, though Henrietta couldn't figure out why. She had long since put away her violin, and with Giuseppe showing no signs of leaving she had been at a loss for what she should do. Giuseppe hadn't stayed in her room this long since she had first come to the Agency. She would normally use this time to read or maybe visit with Triela and Claes, but she was too nervous with him in the room. It didn't help her at all that he also seemed to be ignoring her.
Finally, after much indecision, she came to the conclusion that doing work was the wisest choice. Whatever the cause of his strange mood, he couldn't get angry at her for doing something constructive. So she had had pulled out all of the weapons she kept in her room, and had begun to clean and oil them. It wasn't terribly exciting work by any mean, but it quickly ate up time and kept her mind off the fact that Giuseppe was mopping in her room. And they were scheduled to be cleaned anyway the next day, so it wasn't like she was doing something pointless.
She did wish that he would say something, though. Giuseppe was not a terribly talkative man by any definition of the word, well none of the handlers were really, but he always had something to say, especially to her. Seeing him just sitting there, staring at nothing, made her fell very uncomfortable.
Her monthly evaluation must have been particularly terrible this time. He must have been yelled at by both the chief physician, Dr. Bianchi, and his brother Jean. It was the only thing that she could think of that would cause a reaction like that in him. She sighed. He was probably absolutely furious with her. That was probably the reason for his uncharacteristic silence. Maybe he was considering how to adequately punish her. Maybe he had finally decided to increase the amount of conditioning medication she had to take. He had been against that, but maybe he had finally decided that was the right choice.
Her ruminations were interrupted by Giuseppe abruptly sitting up. Startled, she flinched and almost dropped the barrel of the gun she was cleaning. She peered reluctantly up at him, expecting a face full of thunderclouds. Instead, she saw the same uncertain expression that he had worn earlier. He got up out of the chair, stretched for a moment, then walked over to her. Kneeling beside her, he put his face almost uncomfortably close to hers. She could already feel another blush creeping onto her face.
"What do you think about killing, Henrietta?" Giuseppe asked, surprising her with yet another strange question.
She thought about the question for a moment, and then shrugged. "If you want me too, Giuseppe, just tell me who, and I will."
He flinched slightly at that answer for some reason, but impatiently waved it away. "No Henrietta, not that, how do you feel about killing? The act of it? The act of taking someone else's life?"
Henrietta opened her mouth to answer the question, but after a long moment, realized that she didn't have an answer. She frowned and almost brought her hand to touch her face, stopping just before it touched when she realized it was covered in gun oil. What did she feel about killing?
"I guess I never really thought about it," she found herself saying, feeling somehow distantly horrified and disturbed by the undeniable truth of the words. She hadn't even really ever considered the question before. It was as if some small part of her was crying out in despair at her actions and lack of thought, while the rest of her remained merely apathetic. After a moment's consideration, she squelched that little voice mercilessly. It made her feel distinctly uneasy.
And yet again, due to her own preoccupation, she missed Giuseppe's horrified face.
Henrietta stood at the end of the hall of the top floor of the building, listening to the loud argument coming from one of the rooms. The terrorists could be heard quite clearly, for their door was propped open by a casually placed AK-47. They weren't the most intelligent of terrorists; they didn't even seem to have realized that their intruders had gotten this far. It looked like they hadn't even prepared for the chance of that happening. At best, they seemed to be terribly confused and very argumentative group.
The pair of gunslingers had made rapid progress after they had finished clearing the hallway. They cleared the next two floors quickly; they were only lightly defended at best. The top floor hadn't been defended at all, and Henrietta and Triela had moved quickly to locate the final terrorist holdout to rescue the hostages. It had been surprisingly easy. After all, there wasn't much challenge when their voices could be heard from the stair well.
Henrietta had been watching the door for the past ten minutes while Triela had consulted with their handlers on how to deal with the situation. There had been almost no movement from the people in the room. A man had come out and scanned the hallway once, but it had been a cursory look only, and then he had simply turned around and walked back into the room. She hadn't seen anyone else since.
"These guys aren't terribly professional," she muttered in disgust to Triela, who nodded distractedly, deep in conference with Hilshire.
Henrietta waited patiently while Triela wrapped up the strategy meeting. She personally had little skill in that area, so she was more than willing to let Triela take charge, though she would have preferred Giuseppe to be with them as well. All that she needed to know was where to aim and when to pull the trigger.
Triela crawled over to her when the discussion was over. "Hilshire says that they haven't heard from the terrorists for about half-an-hour, so the status of the hostages is currently unknown. So running in guns blazing is definitely out."
"As if it was really an option from the start," Henrietta said with a smile.
"Well, if we could confirm the hostages were dead, that would be the plan. We'd run in there and blow the bastards to hell," Triela shrugged. "But we can't confirm that, so we'll be trying something a little more subtle."
Henrietta sighed. Subtlety was definitely not her strong point. It wasn't for most of the girls. "So what's the plan, Triela?"
"It's pretty simple, though pretty dangerous for you," warned Triela, "We know all of the hostages are young girls. You're going to go in, allow yourself to be captured, then take out as many as you can while I provide support. You've got your back-up pistol right?" Henrietta nodded and patted the leg of her pants, "I'm sorry, but that's all you can take in with you. We don't want to risk you being found out and getting the hostages hurt."
Henrietta sighed, this time quite heavily, and began divesting herself of her weapons. It was a lengthy process, and when she was done, she had a modest little pile of discarded weaponry nearly knee high. She had packed heavy; without Giuseppe around, she was feeling nervous.
"I left the razor blade in the lining of my jacket for emergencies. Is that okay?" Henrietta asked hopefully.
Triela thought about the question for a moment, before reluctantly nodding. "Yeah, that should be fine. Just make sure it stays there unless you really need it," Henrietta nodded, somewhat petulantly, "Oh, and also, the rifle."
Henrietta blinked in confusion, "What?"
Triela rolled her eyes and pointed at Henrietta's hands, "The rifle, Henrietta."
Henrietta looked down at her hands and realized that she had never put her weapon down through the entire process. Blushing in embarrassment, she hurriedly placed it on top of the pile, almost dropping it in her haste. She often forgot that she was carrying the weapon, since its comforting weight was so often in her hands. It was an embarrassing thing for Triela to pick up on, though.
Thankfully, Triela choose not to pursue the subject any further, and continued with the mission briefing as if nothing had happened, "If the hostages are dead, feel free to begin the attack at your own discretion. Otherwise, see if you can't wait til some of them leave the room. We want to rescue as many hostages alive as possible. If all else fails, in ten minutes, I'll fire a few shots as a diversion, before making my own way in. Got it?"
Henrietta took a moment to consider the plan as a whole. It really was a very dangerous operation, especially for her. Lots of things could go fatally wrong very quickly. But with only the two of them, it was really the best they could do. At least, if they wanted to give the hostages any reasonable chance of walking out of the building alive.
"I do," She said.
Triela nodded, then smiled and gave Henrietta a fierce one armed hug. "I'd go in myself, but Hilshire said my arm might become a liability if close fighting should break out. My aim is still good, though, so save a few for me okay?"
Henrietta laughed quietly, and whispered, "Not a chance."
Walking slowly towards the terrorists' holdout, Henrietta carefully schooled her expression into one of frightened innocence. She hated this sort of deception, but out of all the girls she was the best at it. Rico couldn't lie to save her life, and Angelica, as sad as it was to say it, often would forget that she was supposed to be pretending to be someone else. Triela could do it passably, but she was often too straight-forward to be completely believable. This was why Henrietta was the one who always pulled these kinds of assignments, despite her complete lack of subtlety. Though, she was willing to bet, if given a chance, Claes would excel at this kind of task.
By the time she had reached the door, the arguing had become quite clear. Unfortunately, that didn't mean she could understand it any better. The terrorists weren't speaking any of the languages that she was familiar with. Whatever language it actually was, it sounded Slavic. She hoped that at least one of them spoke some Italian; else this operation might end fatally and prematurely.
Pausing at the door to briefly consider he options, she took a deep breath and began the operation. "H-h-hello? Is someone there?" she said in her best scared-little-girl voice.
As expected, as soon as she spoke, the voices in the room fell completely silent. There was a moment's pause, likely used for a quick whispered discussion about what to do, and then she heard the sound of cautious footsteps approaching. The barrel of a gun was the first thing that came into sight, followed quickly by the rest of the terrorist. That was a good thing. If there were just interested in dealing with the problem, she would have just seen the barrel if she had been lucky. If she had been unlucky, she wouldn't have even realized that she was dead.
When the man walked close enough to see her clearly, Henrietta saw his gun drop, and her hand twitched. It was almost a textbook moment to draw her own concealed weapon and take the man out, but she restrained herself. She even restrained herself when the man grabbed her by the back of her shirt and tried to yank her ahead of him. Unfortunately, the man did not take into account a cyborg's heavier-than-normal mass and almost fell over when he lost his balance. Henrietta just settled with making small frightened noises when he glared at her.
When he recovered, the terrorist just settled for roughly pushing her ahead of him into the room. Like the rest of the rooms on the floor that she and Triela had explored, the terrorists' holdout had been once been a small office. The furnishing had been scattered about the room in various states of recent disrepair, except for the desk, which looked as if it had been placed in such a way so that it could easily
be move to block the door. The hostages, a group of shivering mostly nude young girls, were crouched in the corner farthest from the door. Five terrorists, including the one behind her, filled the rest of the room. That is, except for one of the other corner's of the room, where the corpse of another girl, presumably formerly a hostage, lay curled upon itself.
As soon as she entered, the other terrorists, three men and one woman, turned almost as one to face her. The looks on the men's faces when they saw her made her uneasy, but the woman's completely empty look frightened her. Her unease only increased when the woman gestured towards the other girls and Henrietta realized that she was in charge.
No longer having to entirely pretend to be frightened, Henrietta joined the other girls huddled in the corner. As soon as she crouched down amongst them, two of them latched onto her and began to silently sob into her clothing. Patting their heads absent-mindedly, she did her best to observe the terrorists covertly. Other than the woman, none of the men seemed to be any better than any of the other second rate terrorists they had dealt with on their way up. Well, other than the fact that their clothes were strangely disheveled. Though, seeing the state of many of the girls around her, it wasn't hard to guess why.
There were seven hostages, not including herself, ranging roughly from age seven to age fourteen. Other than their relatively young age, there didn't seem to be many similarities between the girls. All of them had different hair colors, at least one was a foreigner, and according to the briefing they had received, they came from nearly all levels of society. Other than the fact that they were young and female, they had no other connection. Well, other than to have had the misfortune to be in the same building at the wrong time.
Henrietta carefully noted the positions of the terrorists and tried, despite the language barrier to determine what the kidnappers were arguing about. As soon as she had taken her place among the hostages, the men had started arguing again. For it was indeed the men who were arguing. Amongst themselves, mostly, but occasionally with the woman who lead them. It was the arguments with her that were important, however. From what she could guess from the men's gestures and body language, they wanted access to the hostages again, which the woman refused to allow. And the men were far too afraid of the woman to disobey.
Henrietta could think of a few situations that could have lead to the situation; none of them pleasant for any of the girls involved. Clearly something had gone wrong, because with the hostages in this condition, the kidnappers weren't likely to receive much clemency once they were caught. In fact, they would normally be lucky to escape with their lives. Of course, with the Agency involved, that slim chance of staying alive had dropped to near zero. They weren't fans of rapists who targeted little girls for some reason.
The hostages themselves were in very poor condition. From what Henrietta could observe, all seven of the remaining hostages had been sexually assaulted, most of them repeatedly. All of them were bruised in some fashion. However, the only other serious injury that Henrietta could see was a broken arm. Cursory glances at the corpse in the other corner revealed, at least on the surface, similar injuries. All were understandably in shock and several of them had the slightly glazed look that told Henrietta that for the time being at least, their minds had gone elsewhere.
Removing the hostages was definitely not an option, not that it had been a viable one to begin with. That left her with the only other option, removing the terrorists from the picture. Preferably permanently. She had five minutes until Triela began her diversion to plan out her attack.
Those five minutes flew by in the blink of an eye as Henrietta created, examined, and then discarded several plans. Most were simply unfeasible with her current equipment, and many relied too much on luck and predicting what her opponents would do. Finally, she settled on simply making a list of the enemies, from most dangerous to the hostages to the least dangerous, and assigned a killing order based on the list. Not the most tactically sound plan ever created, but without knowing how many of the terrorists would leave to deal with Triela's diction, it was really difficult to come up with a concrete plan.
As the final seconds ticked down, Henrietta felt rather than saw the woman's gaze settle on her. The woman was the real wild card in the plan. Henrietta could only guess at her skill, so of course, she was marked to die first. After her, the rest would fall relatively easily. They were second-rate gunmen at best. If Triela's diversion got even one of the four men to leave, the operation's probability of success would increase dramatically.
Henrietta's internal clock finally reached zero, and she waited a few anxious moments until she heard the familiar bark of Triela's submachine gun. Letting herself flinch and scream with the rest of the girls, she carefully watched as the room exploded into action. Men checked weapons, adjusted clothing, and prepared for combat. At the center of it all, the woman remained calm; snapping out what Henrietta assumed to be orders. Henrietta was impressed. The woman looked completely unfazed.
In short order, two of the men headed for the door, and paused to check for hostiles before heading out into the hallway. No shots were fired. Triela was likely waiting for her to move first, before beginning her own assault. She needed to move quickly, however.
The three other terrorists had taken cover along the opposite wall, near the door. Their backs weren't completely wide open, but it was still probably the best opportunity Henrietta was going to get. Carefully shedding herself of the clingy hostages, she slowly began to shift her weight, preparing to stand, while at the same time, she reached for the reserve pistol strapped to her leg. She had only the small clip in the gun and no reserve ammunition. She had to make her shots count. If she didn't, the situation would quickly become messy.
She rose quietly, drawing her gun and standing in one smooth motion. She had little time to aim, the woman was already reacting, and the two men had noticed as well. The woman was fast, indeed she was frighteningly fast, whirling about almost faster than Henrietta could follow. However, Henrietta still had a three second head start. A small advantage, but it was enough. Henrietta simply pointed her weapon and pulled the trigger. Twice.
The first shot went well low of where she had hoped to hit, burying into the almost exact center of her chest. The second shot, however, entered the woman left eye, though didn't quite make it through the back of her head. Even with the smaller caliber of the reserve pistol, it was still certainly a fatal shot. The woman stumbled and managed to somehow stay erect for a moment, before finally falling. Henrietta was already shifting her aim towards the next target.
As expected, the two others were nowhere near the woman's level. She easily downed the first man with two shots to the upper body, at least one of which hit something vital. She was a bit more careful
with the second. Giuseppe had instructed her, after all, to bring a terrorist back alive if possible. She disabled him, first with a shot to his gun arm, which caused him to drop his weapon and scream, then another shot to his left leg to prevent him from escaping.
The shooting was over in less than twenty seconds. Her part anyway. She could still here gunfire in the hallway. Triela could handle that. Henrietta had other things to deal with. A crowd of wailing hysterical girls, for example. As soon as Henrietta had fired her weapon, most of the girls had dove to the floor and had dragged those who hadn't with them. Then they had all started crying as if they had never heard gunshots before. Her gun was far quieter than most of those on TV. She saw no reason for the hostages to go into such hysterics. It was unsightly.
By the time she had quieted the girls, which really wasn't all that difficult considering they all now seemed scared speechless by her, the wounded man had seemingly recovered from the shock of being shot. He seemed a bit confused at first, but that didn't stop him from diving for one of the guns on the floor. Henrietta, who was quicker than most uninjured men, intercepted him by stepping on the outstretched hand and kicking away the weapon in question. Then, with a casual backhand to the face, she sent him crashing back into the wall. While he was recovering from the blow, she picked up the remaining terrorist's weapons lying about, and relieved all three of them of the hidden one's as well.
Finally, with the room reasonably secure, she made her way to the door. The gunfire in the hallway had died, and an uneasy silence had descended upon the hallway. She paused at the door and took a deep breath. Then, with great caution, she peered around the door, one of the terrorist's AK-47's armed and ready to fire.
She barely had managed to get half an eye across the threshold when she saw the muzzle of a gun pointed at her face. She froze for a moment, but relaxed as soon as she saw who held it. "Triela! You nearly gave me a heart attack!"
The gun dropped and Henrietta heard Triela sigh. Then she laughed. "You should have seen your face, though. Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets."
Henrietta scowled at the older girl. "That isn't funny, and you know it! I could have shot you!" Triela just grinned and didn't even have the grace to look apologetic. Irritated, Henrietta turned and walked back into the room.
Triela's grin was replaced with a thoughtful look when she entered the room behind Henrietta. Henrietta watched as she scanned the room with a professional eye. She carefully took in the dead kidnappers and crying hostages, as well as the details of the rest of the room. When she finished her examination, she smiled. "Good job, Henrietta. As perfect an operation as could be wished for."
Henrietta blushed in pleasure at the complement, but turned away and refused to acknowledge it. After all, Triela had just been making fun of her. So she busied herself with patching up the captured terrorist. What was the point of capturing one for Giuseppe, if it died before she could even show him?
"Hey, Henrietta," said Triela, who was checking over the hostages, "Check the body of the hostage that didn't make it. See if anything is weird about it. I'm going to call up Hilshire and Giuseppe and tell them to bring up the extraction team. Plus the woman on the floor looks familiar. I think I've seen a picture of her before. Maybe they'll be able to identify her." Muttering about bad reception, she left the room.
Henrietta nodded to herself and moved from the disabled man to the corpse of the girl in the corner. She looked at the body.
Then the world fell apart.
"Henrietta," said Giuseppe, his face a voice completely serious, "I want you to promise me something."
She looked up at him, placing the half reassembled pistol back on the table, "What is it? What can I do for you, Giuseppe?" she asked, though with less enthusiasm and more caution than she normally would. With his strange behavior and even stranger questions, she was wary of what he might ask today.
"I want you to promise me, Henrietta. I want you to avoid killing if you can," he asked, looking right into her eyes.
Henrietta blinked, confused, and tried to consider Giuseppe's request. However, some part of her, something deeper than her normal thought processes, reacted much faster than she could imagine, and she found herself speaking without really knowing what she was saying. "This order will place you in danger. I cannot comply."
Both of them drew back in surprise at Henrietta's uncharacteristic reply. She was unable really to tell that she had even said it; the voice had sounded so different from her own. Cold, mechanical, flat; it was nothing like what she thought like she sounded. Her hands rose to cover her mouth and face in embarrassment almost automatically, while Giuseppe's eyes narrowed. She heard him mutter. "The conditioning."
They were both silent for some time after that. Henrietta's silence was due to her acute embarrassment of not being in full control of herself. Giuseppe, however, appeared to be once again deep in though, and judging by the expression on his face, they were unpleasant ones. Henrietta shifted uncomfortably for several minutes, trying to bring her thought back into some semblance of order. Finally, she spoke, this time in full control over herself, "…I will try Giuseppe. But I will do all that I can to protect you…It's all I can do..."
Giuseppe's face softened, and a small smile crept onto his face. He reached over and ruffled her hair affectionately, and she reluctantly let him. "I know, Henrietta. I know. That's all I'll ask."
He sighed and abruptly sat on the floor with a loud thump. He grabbed the pistol she had been reassembling and began to absent-mindedly finish the job. "You know, it's a terrible thing we've done to you girls," he said conversationally.
Henrietta looked at him in confusion for several seconds, but he appeared to not notice. So she settled with a noncommittal answer, "Is that so, Giuseppe?"
He nodded absently as he lifted the gun, now fully reassembled, and dry-fired it. "We take innocent little children, ones who are hurt and in pain, and turn them into pretty little weapons that do whatever we ask. It's a little sad. We teach them to do things that we can't bring ourselves to do and send against enemies we can't face ourselves. Little girls shouldn't be going around killing people."
Giuseppe's casual use of the word 'little' irritated Henrietta, despite the obvious truth of his statement. The only young thing about any of the Agency's girls was their bodies. So, she had no problem throwing him a question that she knew was impossible for him to answer and would make him uncomfortable, to boot. "Why, Giuseppe?"
Giuseppe's head jerked around and stared at her in confusion. "What?" He asked eyes slightly wide.
"Why shouldn't little girls kill people? Since we do, obviously at least some of the population must be at least capable of doing so," she said. It was something that was Triela's style to ask, but he deserved it for calling her 'little.'
As she expected, Giuseppe fumbled around for an answer, "Well…It's just…isn't…It could be…It isn't right Henrietta."
"Why?" asked Henrietta, not quite ready to let it go at just that.
"Because I said so," he said firmly, without hesitation, and began disassembling another weapon.
And because it was Giuseppe, she was satisfied with that.
Her heart was beating hard, hard enough that she thought it would burst out of her chest. She could feel the blood pounding through her veins as she desperately sucked in each breath of air. The room suddenly seemed claustrophobically small; the walls pressing in on her from every direction.
It was the girl. She found herself unable to stop staring at the dead girl. It seemed horrifyingly familiar for some reason. The girl had been particularly beautiful when she had been alive, and even in death she still retained some of that beauty. Though it was that beauty that had ultimately attracted the attention of the terrorists and had lead to her death.
The corpse had either been placed or had died face down on the floor, and the damage was obvious. She knelt between the girl's outstretched legs for a closer inspection, and the few parts of her mind that weren't a swirling, chaotic mess took careful notes. The girl had been heavily raped and sodomized; so heavy that there was a sizable pool of blood puddle beneath her hips. The girl's back and rear were heavily bruised, as well. But it was obvious, even from a casual glance that neither the bleeding nor the bruising had killed the girl.
Moving on automatic, she carefully and gently flipped the girl over. It was the same story, heavy bruising nearly everywhere. Her face and chest had received special attention; they were nearly black from bruising. Still there was no obvious fatal injury; though from the amount of external bruising internal injuries were certainly a possibility.
But Henrietta didn't think so. Memories from someone – it wasn't here. It couldn't be her. Nothing so terribly had ever happened to her. Giuseppe wouldn't let them, no, no, her wouldn't – The memories told about horrible ways a girl could be tortured sexually, but few of them would result in outright death. Horrific pain and humiliation, yes, which could seem to stretch on for eternity. But not death. No, she didn't think the girl had died of internal injuries. Not when t here were so many worse ways to die.
She reached with extreme reluctance for the girl's face. She shakily closed the corpse's staring eyes, which had remained open and pained at death. Then, anticipating the worst, she turned the girl's head to the side and opened her mouth. She felt only sickness, however, as the cloudy liquid begin to ooze out of her mouth, and then after a moment, her noise. She had died of asphyxiation. They had relentlessly used all her, it seemed.
Henrietta could almost taste it herself, and she barely managed to keep herself from throwing up. The girl had been humiliated and debased completely. It made her angry. No, that was too gentle a word. She was enraged. She felt a disturbing level of connection with the dead girl that she could not and did not want explained. Because those things she saw in her mind couldn't have happened to her. It wasn't possible.
She straightened drunkenly from her crouch and backed away from the corpse, one hand holding her head and the other playing with zipper of her jacket. Terrible things were running through her head; sounds, images, words, feelings, sensations. It was like an endless flood of them. Pieces of someone's life. Pieces that had been scattered by an event that rivaled the one in front of her in cruelty and senselessness. Pieces of someone's life who looked so much like herself.
So many of the scenes felt heart-wrenchingly familiar. A woman's kind, smiling face. A school with many young children. A room, decorated with flowers and a comfortable looking bed. The smell of a freshly baked pie. The blood soaked living room. The naked men standing above her, smiling and laughing cruelly.
The hand clutching her head tightened its grip until she started to feel blood run down her face. They weren't standing over her. Those weren't her memories. Giuseppe took care of her. Giuseppe would never let that happen to her. He wouldn't.
She felt so dirty. She wanted to look anywhere else but at the corpse, but it seemed to grow in size, filling her vision wherever she looked. In desperation, she simply turned her back on the corpse. She could feel its eyes on her back somehow, staring blankly. She found herself now nearly face to face with the disabled terrorist, who had lost consciousness, probably from blood loss. Her eyes narrowed, then widened again in an emotion that might have been considered joy.
It was his fault! His fault that she was here! His fault that the girl was raped and dead on the floor! His fault that she was seeing and feeling so many horrible things! In fact, she bet maybe even he had been the cause of those too! The rest of the terrorists were guilty as well, but they were already dead and out of her reach.
She gripped the hem of her jacket, trying to restrain her joy. The one in front of her was in reach. He could be punished to the full extent of her power and ability. He could be made to suffer as they both had. Then, maybe then, the memories would stop. Yes, then she'd be at peace. She would be clean!
She glanced at the door. Triela could return at any moment. She would undoubtedly try to stop her. Henrietta would have to act now. She would make herself clean for Giuseppe.
With a sharp yank on the hem of her jacket, she removed the razor blade hidden within it. She brought it up to eye level, admiring its deadly beauty. It was sharp enough to cut through both flesh and bone. It
would be sufficient for the task as long as she could keep the terrorist quiet. The vocal chords would have to go first.
Smiling at the unconscious man, she said one thing before getting to work.
"I'm sorry, Giuseppe."
Triela began running as soon as she heard the screaming. Cursing in German under her breath, she sprinted as fast as her feet would take her back towards the hostages. For some reason, the radio reception on the top floor had suddenly become almost completely nonexistent. She had been forced backtrack almost the entire way to the stairwell before she had gotten a clear enough signal so she could speak with the handlers.
To her great irritation, however, the reception had clearly returned. "Triela! Triela! What's the situation?" Hilshire asked, sounding worried.
"I hear screaming coming from the hostages' room. Are you picking up anything from Henrietta's mic? Wait, she took it off before she in after the hostages, didn't she?" she whispered, as she skidded to a stop outside the door and readied her weapon.
There was silence from the other side of the radio for a few moments, and Triela waited impatiently in silence for orders. "…Alright, Triela, here's what we're going to do. We are going to give the extraction team the go-ahead to move in We'll accompany them in."
Triela repressed the urge the make an angry, sarcastic remark. It wouldn't help the situation at all. "So I am to wait until support arrives? The situation may be completely out of hand by the time it shows up. "
There was silence from the other side of the line again. Triela strained to hear what was going on inside the room. The amount and volume of screaming had definitely died off. Every now and then there was a muffled wail, but none of the loud screaming that had echoed down the hallway only moments before. All she really could hear was muffled sobs. The only good thing was that she hadn't heard any gunshots.
The radio crackled loudly, signaling the return of bad reception. Thankfully, the message still got through. "Triela. We're going to leave it up to your discretion whether to act or not," Hilshire said, voice still recognizable despite the static, "Either wait for support or head in yourself. Make the call," there was a pause, "Just don't die, alright?"
Hilshire's last remark didn't deserve a reply. Of course, she wouldn't die. She'd been trained by the best, after all. It was the others that she was constantly worried about.
She considered her options. Waiting for Hilshire and Giuseppe was the wisest idea, but was really out of the question. It would take them at least ten minutes to arrive. A lot could happen in ten minutes, and she wasn't willing to wait that long. So that option was out.
Which left two broad options that could be pursued. She could attempt to negotiate, or she could simply force her way in. Negotiating required some knowledge of the situation. She was, of course, assuming that it was the terrorist who was causing the problem. Maybe one of the hostages had snapped and had
hurt herself or one of the other hostages. Both situations were possible, and she had no clear idea which it was, which would make it hard to negotiate. Plus, she just didn't feel like doing that. Which left forcing her way in as her only option. Not that she was complaining.
Carefully, she peeked into the room. When no gunfire greeted her outstretched head, she slowly edged the rest of her body around the door frame until she was all the way inside the short hallway that lead to the office. Unfortunately, it didn't really put her into a better position. The only thing she could see was the dead girl, and it was unlikely that she was the one causing trouble.
Triela carefully flattened herself against the inside wall and again stopped to listen. In addition to the weeping and wailing from the hostages, she could hear mumbling coming from along the wall from where the terrorist had been placed. That was good. If the hostages hadn't moved, she would have a clear line of fire.
She slowly reached down the weapon and pulled the lever that switched the gun's fire mode from burst to single shot. Despite the likelihood of a clear line of fire, it never hurt to be careful. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, then without another thought, she hefted her weapon and stepped into the room.
She was not prepared for what she saw. There was blood everywhere; the floor, the walls, and some of the ceiling. No wonder the hostages had freaked out. And there, sitting beside the now very dead terrorist was a crying, blood soaked Henrietta.
Lowering her weapon slightly, Triela took a long moment to assess the situation. The hostages seemed fine. Certainly, they were more traumatized than before, but at this point in the game, it didn't really matter. The terrorist was dead. Definitely dead. Pieces of body tissue that were suppose to be attached, and even some that were suppose to be inside lay scattered around him on the floor. She saw a tongue, half a finger, what looked to be part of an intestine, and some thing that might have been a heart valve. Definitely dead. The knife buried in his chest was also a good clue.
Henrietta was a mess. She was covered nearly head to toe in blood, though upon closer inspection, it seemed as if very little of it was her own. She sat on the floor, leaning against the terrorist, eyes staring straight ahead. It was her mumbling that Triela had heard. She leaned closer to hear what the mumbling was, but jerked back in surprise after only a moment. The girl was muttering nonstop apologies to no one.
Triela looked around the room uneasily, hoping for some sign that something other than the obvious had happened. Unfortunately, she saw nothing that indicated otherwise. She waved her hands in front of Henrietta's face, but got no reaction. She wasn't going to be much help either.
"Hilshire, does Giuseppe have any doses of Henrietta's conditioning medication with him?" she asked quietly into the radio.
There was a pause, and then a loud burst of static before Hilshire's wary voice came through, "…Yes, we always do. It's required. Is it…needed?"
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Triela had to restrain herself from making a rude remark. Would she be asking for any other reason? "Better have him get up here real quick," she said.
She heard his affirmative, but her attention was already elsewhere. Feeling suddenly tired, she leaned against the wall, facing the hostages. The body of the dead female terrorist caught her eye. She hadn't had the opportunity to ask Hilshire about her, and maybe wouldn't get one anytime soon. Other priority had superseded it, it seemed. It was too bad, she was curious.
The hostages whimpered and cried, huddling together for warmth and comfort. Henrietta continued to mumble indistinct apologies to the air. The dead lay silent, already beginning to smell. Triela sighed, leaned against a stretch of relatively bloodless wall, and waited for back-up. Mission complete.
Well, this is probably one of the shortest breaks between postings in a long time. o.O Probably not what most people wanted, though.
Anyway, story notes. This happens to be my first fully handwritten complete story...well, ever. I'm quite proud of it, though I still don't think I cleaned it up nearly well enough. I can still spot the breaks in between periods of writting in some places. Frustrating, but I did my best. This story was pretty difficult to write. It's entitled Pavlov's Lament for a couple of reasons. First, the obvious, Henrietta's conditioning obviously fails in the last bit, and that was something I wanted to explore a bit. And the second reason is...well, I don't think Pavlov would be a fan of conditioning used in this way. I dunno. Gunslinger Girl is one of those series I love because it disturbs me, and I guess this story is suppose to express that a little bit. I'm a psychology major so this sort of thing isn't that new to me, but still its a little frightening.
Plus I learned some important things about myself while writting this. The rape victim examination scene was suppose to be much longer and have considerably more detail. The terrorist torture scene as well was not suppose to be a fade to black thing. However...I just couldn't bring myself to write that. I had to stop writting both of those scenes and walk away for a bit and do some soul-searching. I just can't write that sort of graphic thing at this point in time. It was an interesting to learn.
Anyways, the next chapter Something to Die For is finally up on the horizon, so please look out for that sometime in the next month. After that, maybe another one shot might be in the works. Gakuen Alice and Maria-sama ga Miteru have a lot of dark material that isn't covered by their animes and mangas. I might dive into that. Or maybe I'll do the flip side of this one, which would be Giuseppe's and Dr. Bianchi's meeting. That one has potential too.
I hope you enjoyed!