Author's Notes: This story will very likely be incorporated into a future volume of "A Triumph of the Heart." At this time, inspiration struck, struck hard, and refuses to let go, so I am forced to "exorcise by prose" this idea before I am able to work on the Volume 3 of "Heart." If and when this story becomes part of the main series of "Hope" volumes, I'll simply rename it so your comments will not be lost. Until then, it will be named:

Christmas Choices Chapter 1: Crimson Night

The snow started falling on winter solstice's morning, at first lightly dusting the trees and roofs. It continued through the next few days and nights, and now drifts knee -high were piled where shoveled, forming inconvenient berms between the parking lanes and the sidewalks and shops.

Via del Governo Vecchio hosted many antique shops, dusty mazes of clothing racks bursting with fashions from generations past. Sempre Verde looked from the outside to be neglected to the point of becoming a public nuisance with its cracked display window and perennial "Use Side Door" signs hanging from the double front doors.

Locals knew this was all deliberate. If one searched online hard enough, one would find a picture of sour-faced safety inspectors arguing with the owner in twilight's gloom, in front of those self-same broken doors, both open wide and steady. How else would the store remain open year after year, fire inspection after fire inspection?

Dina smiled at the recent memory of learning this herself. Priscilla Meleori, data specialist, was narrating this fact while typing on her laptop. Dina was seated in the next office chair, her feet dangling. Paolo di Tomaso, Social Welfare Agency special agent, was looking over both their shoulders as he leaned on Priscilla's chair back, his hands atop each the other, and his chin, broad and strong, resting on them.

Dina marveled at the analyst's depth of knowledge in so many fields, and she loved how Signorina Priscilla's voice was animated and warm, such a warm contrast to the somber tones so many of the other adults used when addressing her and her fellow cyborgs. To most of the Social Welfare Agency, they cyborgs were tools to be kept honed, weapons to be kept oiled. At most, a handler might be less guarded with his respective cyborg, such as how Paolo treated her. However, Signorina Priscilla was like that to all of the cyborgs.

Leaning into the leather seat, Dina closed her eyes and tried to relive that happy moment once more.

"Coming?" A brisk chill filled the car as Paolo opened the back driver's side door. The nighttime lights silhouetted the speaker.

Dina nodded with a smile as she bounded from the seat. Anyone paying attention might have noticed the car's suspension rise far more than it should from the mass of a normal ten-year old being removed.

Her handler closed the door and tested the handle. He caught her quick and slightly-puzzled glance from his pocket to his outstretched hand before their eyes met. "Old habits, I guess." He ran a gloved hand through his neat and close-cropped hair. "Most people lock their cars with remotes these days."

She gave a firm nod. "That's okay, Signore Paolo. I'll be sure to do that from now on, too."

He smiled. "Sempre Verde's door is off that alley. What colour hat would you think looks funniest on Jean?"

"Pink!"

Paolo tried to imagine the tall, blond, and stone-faced lead special agent sporting a pink fedora. With laughter bubbling, they stepped lightly into the streetlight's yellow pool on the way to the crowded store.

Ξ§§§Ξ

Paolo and Dina exited Sempre Verde with their hands each clutching a fan of bags. By the car's trunk, Paolo made to set his bags down, but looked at the grey slush, bootprints atop tire treads, and instead started threading his left hand through the bag handles.

"Here, Signore Paolo." Not only did Dina carry the bag of heavy, leather-bound antique photo albums, she also hefted a brass cherub statue. Her load was easily twenty kilos, yet she still held her arm straight and outstretched, as if those bags contained nothing more than pillows.

"It's all right, Dina. I have this well in..."

Two of the bags fell from his fumbling fingers and splashed muddy, semi-melted snow on his shoes.

Paolo laughed. "Oh, well." He set the other bags down, freeing his right hand. "Maybe I should have let you help me." He dug in his pocket for the keys, smiling.

Dina looked up at her handler and smiled back. With a triumphant gleam in her eyes, she took a breath and readied her thoughts.

Gunshots drowned out her words. She flattened Paolo, her hundred kilos forcing all the air out of his lungs. She looked around, then rolled off him and crouched, blocking his view of the far intersection. Her leather schoolbag she had already slipped off her right shoulder and slung under her left arm, pressed against her body.

Her right hand was shoved under the flap, wrapped around the bulky handle of the Beretta 90Two.

Paolo pushed himself into a seated position. As he did, Dina side-stepped, keeping herself always between him and the sporadic gunfire. "Dina, can you move over? I can't see."

"Yes, Signore Paolo." She took a half-step to the left.

Two cars, dark grey luxury sedans blocked a hulking black sport-utility vehicle between them. Two men crouched behind the nearest car, still fifty meters distant, intermittently rising from behind the vehicle to shoot. A third lay between them, his clothing rapidly growing red.

"Are you all right, Signore Paolo?"

"I'm fine, Dina. Thank you."

"Should we engage?"

Paolo shook his head. "No, we're just bystanders right now. Besides, I don't know which side is who." He brushed the dirty slush and snow off his greatcoat and stood. "However, we should move closer."

They ignored their strewn bags, moved onto the sidewalk and fought their way upstream against the flow of panicked shoppers. By the time they huddled behind the car closest to the battle, all pedestrians had fled the area. The undulating wail of police sirens sounded from two directions.

The two grey 7-Series BMWs roared off, their ambushers with them. The Range Rover's driver opened his door and stumbled out. He took two steps, then leaned against his massive vehicle, and slid down, leaving a dark red streak over the rear passenger door. A machine pistol clattered on the street.

"Keep your weapon hidden, but ready, Dina."

"Yes, Signore Paolo."

They surveyed the wreckage.

The Rover's tires were still leaking air. Not a pane of glass remained. Bullet holes formed black centers in circles of missing black paint. They stood in stark contrast to the light-grey metal underneath.

"What do we-"

"Stay here, Dina." Paolo rose and started walking toward the survivor.

"Signore Paolo! That's not safe!" She rushed beside him and grabbed his hand.

Halted, Paolo looked at her in mild surprise. "Didn't I tell you to stay behind?"

She nodded. "But I can't let you get hurt!"

"All right, come with me. But that man needs help." He crouched and cupped his free hand between his mouth and her ear. "Besides, I think the Agency would want to know what's going on here."

She nodded, this time haltingly. "Yes, Signore Paolo." She freed his hand and slipped her hand back under the schoolbag's flap.

The driver was shot multiple times in the upper torso. His breath was ragged and thready.

Paolo nodded once at the driver.

Dina knelt, removed the Army-issue first aid kit from her backpack, and started tearing the driver's pant legs into strips of cloth.

Paolo opened the rear door.

The passenger too bore multiple wounds, but was conscious. A pistol, handle slick with blood, had fallen from his hand and was just out of reach. He fumbled for it nevertheless. "Do it already. You're a dead man, so you might as well enjoy this."

Paolo held up his hands. "I'm here to help. The other guys drove off already. Besides," he pointed skyward with his upraised hand, "the police are almost here. You're safe."

His cough brought up a trickle of blood. "Then tell me, are you a doctor?"

"Just a bystander trying to help. Dina! Bring your kit!"