~1~
The rifle felt good in my hands- heavy with power and responsibility. The cold metal contrasted with the hot day, giving me a sense of relief. The shooting range at the agency wasn't the most shaded area, and on days such as this, with the temperature a blistering ninety-eight degrees and rising, even my genetically modified body was starting to overheat. Sure, I could have taken off my trench coat, but that would be a sign of surrender- to the heat, to the discomfort, and to Hilshire, who had immediately protested my outfit.
"But Triela," he had said, struggling to keep his voice even, "It is ninety-eight degrees, and the forecasters are predicting it to get into the hundreds by the afternoon. There is no way you can wear a trench coat and long pants to the shooting range."
Some people might call me stubborn. I prefer self-actualized. "I can- and will- wear my trench coat and pants to the range. Just watch me."
At that point, several curse words were exchanged. Finally Priscilla, who had been watching the whole scene with some curiosity, just said, "Let her do what she wants, Hilshire. She'll learn the hard way!"
I had. There I was, holding the rifle, aiming again and again at some stupid target, and sweating my ass off under several layers of clothes.
"Lower the barrel." Hilshire ordered. "Bring the gun back to rest on your shoulder- feel that? Now, if anyone were to come up behind you, you could hit them with the butt."
I grumbled under my breath just what Hilshire could do with the gun and his butt.
"Press the trigger," he continued. I did so. The gun arched back with recoil, hitting me in the chin. Glaring at him all the while, I placed my rifle back onto my shoulder, and mentally prepared myself. This time when I shot, the recoil didn't surprise me, and I was able to hit the outer ring of the middle of the target. "Good job," Hilshire commended me. As if I need his approval, I thought venomously. "Now hit the center fifteen more times, and you can go inside and change.
"I don't need to change!" I shouted.
He looked at me with a sort of unreadable expression. "Fine," he said finally. "Then thirty times. Then you can go inside and- do whatever."
"Fine," I snapped. Turning my attention away from him, I raised the gun to the base of my throat and fired. One. Two. Three. Dead center. Stop, reload. One. Two. Three. One after the other, each one entering the same hole. I turned back to face Hilshire with a triumphant expression, only to find that I was alone. I don't need his approval! I thought again, continuing to shoot. This is for me! And for Pinocchio. The next time that I met up with that son-of-a-bitch, he was going to be surprised. Ever since he had knocked me out the previous month, I had been training hard to catch up to his level of skill. I couldn't believe that anyone- let alone a human boy- had managed to defeat me into hand-to-hand combat. But it would never, ever happen again. Beat me once, shame on you. Beat me twice, shame on me. I wasn't about to put up with that kind of humiliation again… and worse than that, the pity that the rest of the girls had showered me with.
Pinocchio. My ultimate enemy. I was prepared to kill him. To meet him, fight him, and kick his ass. It was necessary. He was evil. Hilshire, as well as the rest of the Agency, needed him dead. I was more than happy to oblige.
Little did I know what I was to soon learn. About the Agency, about Pino, and about myself. But right then, I shot the rest of the targets, glowered a little bit, then flung my gun aside and went inside to change.