Author's notes & disclaimer: I don't own GG, but I do own pretty much every
character that makes an appearance in this. Except Triela &
Hillshire. But they're not in it for a while. I used pretty much
my own interpretations of stuff like the life span of the girls and
The Elsa Factor as well as the lack of male operatives in the show so some of my story may not fit in 100percent with your take on it.
My apologies to anyone with male operatives under their belts – I
mean no disrespect for blatantly ignoring you or the possible
existence of males elsewhere in the SWA/world: I just had this story
floating around in my head for a while before I came on here :D
For Henrietta – Knowing that you must die breaks my heart.
Fragility
"Fighting their love is one battle they can't win."
Prologue
Early in the 21st Century, the Italian Government created a new kind of secret agency. This agency took terminally ill young girls away from their family - if they were lucky enough to have any - and repaired their injuries using cybernetic components. This agency then, as part of the treatment, conditioned the girls using brainwashing techniques. The agency used the children to perform illegal operations against terrorists, criminals and assorted enemies of the state. The agency was largely successful in its aims, even if those used by it rarely lived more than a few years due to their conditioning process. That agency was called the Social Welfare Agency.
Not long after the SWA's inception, other governments across the world heard rumours about an Italian government body which trained children to kill. Rather than condemning the Italians, many governments soon learned their own techniques for creating the Cyborgs. They soon realised the same things the Italians had done – the younger the patient then the better the conditioning held, and that male patients reacted unpredictably (sometimes aggressively) to the conditioning process. Most agencies copied the Italian "Fratello" unit style, and even adopted the term itself. Others, like the United States, decided that the opportunity to create near invincible super soldiers was too good to pass up and swiftly set to work designing new, more effective Cyborgs.
Soon, almost every developed country had its own agency and its own Cyborg agents. They took no notice of the issues raised by the Italian SWA, such as the chances of the bond between handler and child becoming too intimate, or too distant. The British Welfare Corporation (the UK's answer to the SWA) decided that in order to counter any threat posed by another nation using its cyborgs aggressively or to counter the possibility of terrorists or criminal organisations learning the secrets of creating a Cyborg was to devote a large amount of resources into a project designed to create a Cyborg Response Unit. And into such a world was the "First Response Assault Unit Project" born.
A world of fear and hate.
Chapter 1
The train was travelling more slowly as it neared the city. The deep rumbling noise as it grinded along the tracks steadily grew more rhythmic. Inside, four men in business suits rose from their seats and made their way out of the carriage. They were completely oblivious to the fact that they were being watched. Further down, a man in a black coat and a young girl wearing jeans and a black jumper sat and observed. The girl looked at the man and took in his features: his pale skin; his shallow, gaunt cheeks; his pale white hair grown down to his shoulders. His features were just beginning to show signs of natural wear and tear, he was still young. This was the man she loved. She touched his thin, bony hand and marvelled at the whiteness of his skin.
"Sir, can I kill them now?"
Her voice was soft and quiet, yet eager. The man turned his head to look at her, his sallow features inscrutable. Her large brown eyes gazed up at him adoringly. He reached out a hand to gently brush some of her long, silky hair out of her face. It was a deep, deep red-brown colour and reached down to her waist. Beautiful. He smiled.
"Yes Rose, you can kill them now."
Opposite from where they were sitting, a young couple shifted uneasily as though a chill wind was blowing down the carriage. Rose eased herself out of her seat and began walking down the aisle, smiling happily. The man, Tony Kite, sat and watched the nine year-old walk slowly away. His smile disappeared as the daemons within returned and began to gnaw at his heart.
Bullets thudded into the bricks around the window as Tony loaded another few shells into his Colt Peacemaker. The metal of his gun chamber was hot and it burned and blistered his fingers as they expertly chambered the new rounds. To his side a young girl, Samantha, was busily firing her Peacemaker out of the window at the men outside with Kalashnikovs. Her white summer dress blew in the breeze from the smashed window. If it hadn't have been for the situation they were in, the Fratello could have enjoyed the surprisingly good British weather. But as it was, they were stuck inside this apartment room whilst two dozen heavily armed criminals were trying to kill them. Samantha saw a man trying to run up the stairway to the apartment and took him down with a single bullet to the head. Tony looked out of the window and fired at the men outside – where the hell was his backup? Then he received his answer; he heard gunfire that certainly wasn't from an AK. Looking along the street outside he saw three small girls all armed to the teeth, cutting a swathe through the gangsters. He watched with a grin as one tracksuit wearing criminal was blown apart at point blank range by a small, blond girl's M16.
"Samantha; come on, they arrived – let's get down there and lend a hand!"
He looked over at the girl, her golden curls spilling over her shoulders. She looked up and smiled.
"Yes, Sir."
Tony placed a hand on her shoulder before running out into the hallway, pulling back the hammer of his revolver – ready to fire. He was caught of guard. A short blast from an Ingram Mac10 blew him off his feet.
"Sir!"
Samantha's scream of horror mixed with rage drew the shooter's attention. He levelled the Mac10 and fired before Samantha could react through her shock. The bullets tore her apart. There was a loud crack and the shooter fell forward with a spray of claret: his head no longer identifiable as a head. Tony sat, his well formed, tanned face covered in blood and grimacing in pain. His short white hair was drenched in blood that was not his. He crawled over to where Samantha lay, she was barely breathing – not even a Cyborg could survive that level of damage. He knelt beside her, his own injuries forgotten.
"Sammy..."
He was beginning to weep. The relationship between them had always been close – she was like a cherished daughter to him.
"Tony? Please... I can't see..."
Her voice was faint, and her eyes were covered in blood from a head wound. Taking her hand in his own, he held it up to his face.
"You'll be alright. Don't worry... There's help coming now."
If only he believed it himself. He knew there was no time. Even while the other girls of the British Welfare Corporation finished killing and began searching the area for the missing Fratello; Tony knew she was dying.
"Sir?" Her voice was even fainter. "You'll be given a new ... partner, won't you?"
A trickle of blood started at the corner of her mouth.
"Yeah... I... I will." His tears began to mix with her blood.
"Can you make me a promise?"
"Anything." Tony meant it.
"Love her."
This took him aback.
"What...what do you mean?" He asked.
"Don't just treat her like...another partner, give her everything she needs. Love her. Love her...like I love you."
Her mouth opened in a last attempt at speech – but her lungs were drowning in blood. The realisation hit him.
Like I love you...
"Samantha..." Tony wept openly over her dead body until the pain of his own wounds took his consciousness.
"Sir? It's done." The voice of another girl broke through his memories. Looking at Rose, he saw that her right hand was bleeding. So much had changed since he lost Samantha. His appearance had lost all of its handsome, full features. His mind had lost all comfort. But he would keep his promise. He loved Rose. More than a daughter, more than he had loved anyone. More than he loved Samantha? Possibly, but in a different way. Samantha was his first. There was a bond in that that couldn't be broken, not even by death. But Rose was his protégé. Skilled, deadly, efficient. Perfect. He loved her for it.
"You're bleeding. Does it hurt?"
His voice was soft and concerned.
"No sir, it doesn't hurt. One of them had a knife. I disarmed him – like you taught me."
"Here", he took a folded tissue out of his pocket and pressed it against the wound on her palm, closing her little fingers around it to hold it in place.
"Well, eventually that should stop the bleeding at any rate. But have a medic look at that when we get back. I don't want it getting infected."
"Yes, sir"
"You've performed excellently, once again. I'm starting to think that you might be able to do better than perfect one day."
He stroked her hair softly and she sat back on her seat. This time the young couple opposite them actively shuddered and looked at each other, their faces betraying their fear of this man who loved a girl young enough to be his daughter and the girl who talked about killing as though it were a hobby.
"Tell you what," Tony said as the train neared the station, "Lancaster's a beautiful city. What do you say we go see the castle before we go home? We could go to a restaurant afterwards."
"Oh, sir that would be wonderful!"
Rose's face lit up at the prospect of spending personal time with Tony.
"I told you to call me by my name when not on a mission. The mission ended when you killed them, Rose."
He smiled down at her. This was a particular problem with Rose – she never knew what to call him. Their first mission together: in Japan to bring down a Yakuza syndicate preparing to set up shop in the UK and Italy had resulted in 'Tony-san', then it evolved into 'Sir' after more training. He knew that 'Tony-san' had now pretty much become a pet-name for him. She called him 'Tony' only after he told her to... And Tony-san would remain, no matter how often he told her not to call him that. Poor Rose. Sometimes she could be so delicate.
"Oh, yes sir. I mean, Tony. I'm sorry" She said it with a hurt tone in her voice.
"Don't worry about it. C'mon, this is our stop – let's go."
Together they got up and left the train. The winter's afternoon was cold but sunny and the pleasant atmosphere as they left the station did nothing to even suggest that four known terrorists had been killed and hidden in the baggage compartment of one of the trains here. It did even less to suggest that their killer might have been a nine year-old girl.
