author's note
Review if you liked it, but please no flames. Concrit is enjoyed.
Also, Clarice is not to be viewed as a mouthpiece for my own personal beliefs or thoughts on Angelica whatsoever. I have nothing against her as a character; it is simply Clarice's own personality. If you're confused here, read on to find out (although if you're a fan of Angelica, I highly encourage you not to).
BLOOD & INSTINCT
The algid night was fresh with the scent of cold, newly spilled blood. The walls were decorated with bullet holes, and a few feet away the window was shattered, yet the errant glass could only be found sticking awkwardly out of a man's lifeless skull. A cerise young hand pushed his head, so lightly to the touch, and observed as it lolled, very dead.
Clarice turned around, pulling her FNP-9 out of its holster on her belt. Another man stood in the doorway, much more alive than the terrorists scattered through the main room, wearing a sleek and traditional pinstripe suit. His attire, unlike the blonde cyborg's, was untarnished.
She lowered her pistol and eventually stowed it. The man coughed; "Well done."
"...Th...thank you, sir."
"I'd get your 53, but I'm afraid my shoes might get soaked." He moved somewhat despondently to the side of the doorframe, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a SIG SP 2340. "Pick it up and come here."
The blonde did as she was told, hearing the slight movement of liquid beneath her as she lifted the carbine off the floor and walked, shoes scraping across the tile all until she stood in front of her supervisor. She held it to him and he took it, turning and leaving the warehouse with her traipsing after.
Outside, four fratello Clarice recognized loitered together in a group, each child clutching an individual firearm: Giuseppe and Henrietta, Jean and Rico, Marco and Angelica, and Bernardo and Beatrice. Another female with hair a more darker blonde than Clarice's came whirling down from the superstructure on a harness. She wore a nice suit — or, it would have been nice, were her front not drizzled with blood.
She lost the harness and turned her bitter gaze upwards. "I'm on the ground, Hilshire!"
A man replied in kind: "Okay!"
Triela backed a few paces from the front of the warehouse when her supervisor spiraled downwards in a similar manner. He glanced around the fratello.
"Abele," he addressed Clarice's impeccable handler. "Do you mind sending Clarice up to fetch the equipment?"
"It's fine." Clarice looked up at her supervisor, cheeks a faint pinkish color as his eyes bore into her own. "Could Angelica perhaps go with her?"
The blonde jumped, startled by his request for another to accompany her. Immediately she turned her pastel blue orbs on the black-haired female standing next to her stout handler, who beamed and meandered towards her. Abele smiled at the youth as he passed Clarice the H&K 53 carbine, muttering darkly out of the corner of his mouth, "Kill any survivors."
With a diligent nod, she embarked back inside the warehouse, disregarding her partner. Blood sloshed about almost like a river until Clarice reached the staircase and looked over her shoulder at Angelica, who was holding her Steyr AUG.
"What are you staring at me for?" the elder cyborg inquired, causing the other to falter for a moment.
"You're a really good fighter for a new addition," Angelica said, smiling. Clarice's glare remained unchanging. "I've been feeling somewhat weak lately, so it feels nice to have someone with me."
"I'm not accompanying you, though," Clarice corrected, pouting as she set off up the stairs. "You're following me."
Angelica giggled a little. "That sounds more like—"
A deafening clang. Clarice froze. The sound of a tin can rattling against the cool, hard floor. She peered ahead, a sickening feeling looming in her stomach, and realized that her suspicions were quite ostensible: a man stood towering at the top of the stairs, holding a submachine gun. He would have been but a mere sinister outline were Clarice's vision not enhanced.
Instinctively, she pulled the dress-clad young female in front of her.
She was only focused on the moment. Their guns lay together, discarded on the ground like toys, slowly being entrenched in Angelica's blood as the bullets hammered into her flesh and skull, not even scathing Clarice. She didn't care about the other girl's life; it was her, now, in this moment. Survival of the smartest, the fittest, and the craftiest.
The roar of the SMG finally stopped, and Clarice slowly released the fabric of Angelica's dress, averting the sight of the mutilated corpse as she dipped down and picked up her 53, turning it upon the murderous man and killing him instantly with one bullet. She stepped over the dead girl who lay sprawled across stone and continued upwards until she reached the roof, grabbed Hilshire's equipment, and descended all the way back down. She wanted to abstain from taking Angelica with her just yet, and resolved to go back in for her.
A calm scene greeted Clarice: Henrietta was miserably attempting to wipe her P90 of the blood upon it, consequently getting it on her sleeve; Rico sat upon the grass not far with her Dragunov beside her; Hilshire was trying to persuade Triela to don his coat; and Beatrice loitered, her appearance woebegone, away from Bernardo, who was discussing with Jean.
The blonde brightened rapidly when she heard Abele's voice.
"Clarice," he said. His eyes traveled downwards at the equipment. "Good, you have it." She nodded and set it on the ground. "Go back in and get your gun. Where is Angelica?"
She darkened somewhat at the sound of the girl's name and turned, going back in. "I'm sure you'll understand."
Minutes passed, until the silhouette of an odd, lopsided figure trailed out...
Abele's eyes widened, his expression aghast. Several of the cyborgs screamed. Clarice dropped Angelica's carcass unceremoniously, looking positively unshaken by the events, and leaned against the building wall, taking her shoes off to wring her socks which had by now gone a deep, crimson color. The tattered form lay still amidst the silent horror, of crickets chirping blissfully in the trees.
"Clarice," Abele muttered feebly, brown hues fixated upon the dead Angelica Togni. "Clarice... What happened?"
"There was a man," Clarice replied idly, twisting a sock. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Beatrice watching her. "He was going to shoot me, so..."
"So? What?"
"...So Angelica jumped in my way. She took the brunt of the bullets and...died."
Jean stepped up, arms folded. "She just...'died'."
Clarice blinked. "Yes, sir. The man carried a submachine gun."
"And you didn't do anything."
"There was nothing to do, Mr. Croce."
"Very well," Jean sighed, turning to the supervisors and their charges. "Tomorrow, we will hold a meeting as soon as possible and discuss this further. Abele, I expect you and Clarice to be present. You as well, Marco."
The former handler said nothing, his expression unreadable.
