Rome, Italy, Summer Of 2000
Lightning
raked the rundown alleyway behind the restaurant Rolito's Pasta.
Air shimmered. The translucent globe vanished as quickly as it had
appeared, leaving a smooth-sided concave depression in the
cobblestones–
The young woman previously hunched over in the deepest part of the depression stood up. She was naked as the day she had been reconstructed from timid Scandinavian bookworm to efficient killing machine.
"Raballo…"
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Franco and
Franca, enjoying the night air in each other's company, stared at
the approaching woman who bore not the slightest bit of clothing or
embarrassment.
Franco gaped at the sexy sight. Franca elbowed him out of jealousy.
Have I seen this woman before?
The naked woman eyed Franca from head to foot, then at Franco, who was already doing the same to her.
"Nice night for a walk, eh?" Franco mumbled.
"Your clothes," the naked woman ordered Franco. "Give them to me."
"What?"
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Two days
later, a young Frenchman named Marc accidentally stumbled across two
bodies on his way to his usual drinking spot (Rolito's). The
male victim was naked. The police theorized it to be some cultish
murder-suicide pact.
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Raballo
sighed as he waited at the prearranged rendezvous point he and his
journalist friend had selected for their expose. I'm getting too
old for this…
Movement towards him out of the corner of his right eye caught his attention. Almost lazily, he glanced at the approaching woman– and felt his heart stop.
Claes? Raballo thought in shock.
Ten years older, taller, wearing dark shades instead of eyeglasses and packing quite a rack, but yes, she did look like his student, now being brainwashed by those bastards at–
She's not wearing a bra, he realized with horror.
'Claes' bore a box of roses. He thought it was sweet of her, and wondered who the lucky man was.
Then he remembered the old Mafia movies.
He was already reaching for his pistol when rubber screeching on cobblestone spun him to his left. A blue sedan drove straight for him. The passenger in the shotgun seat leaned out the window with an Uzi.
Damn! He was slow to meet the new threat–
"Mr. Raballo!" As expected, 'Claes'– she not only looked the same, but sounded much alike– had her VP-70 pistol out and aimed his way. Then, the unexpected: "Get down!"
Raballo hit the floor like a rock. The gunman's head exploded. The next expert shot took the driver out just as efficiently. The sedan crashed into a nearby wall.
His savior calmly walked over to where Raballo lay sprawled in an undignified heap. She thrust her free hand at his astonished face.
"You must come with me if you want to live," 'Claes' stated.
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This
Summer…
Freda
Claes Johansson is…
TERMINATOR: CLAES
"GUNSLINGER GIRL"
A
really senseless little yarn by a guy who watched the "Terminator
Jesus" Youtube video, and who really should be studying hard for
his finals.
Disclaimer:
I do not own GSG, Terminator, SaiKano and all the other stuff I'm ripping off. Marc and Luke are courtesy Colonel Marksman. Rolito, Elena and Giuseppe are mine.
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"I am a
Gunslinger Girl," Claes recited as she and Raballo drove in the
sedan they took from the dead hit men. "A cybernetic organism…"
"I… I know that already..."
"… from the future."
"… Huh?"
"You have been targeted for termination-"
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"See,"
Jean grated harshly, having just heard about a mysterious woman
saving Raballo from his hit men, "I don't know who this bitch is,
but I want her and Raballo dead! I want their family and
friends dead! I want the people who owe them money dead! I want their
dog dead! I want their house burned down so I can piss on the ashes!"
"Jean," the worried Jose tried to placate his furious brother, "Calm down… You're losing control… You're talking in a Mexican accent!"
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"-My
mission is to protect you," Future Claes continued.
"Who sent you?"
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Rolito
Miranda sneezed.
"Bless you, Papa…"
"Thanks, Elena-tan. I wonder who was talking about me?"
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Future
Claes: "The Project Ultimate Weapon Funding Bill is passed. The
system goes on-line August 4th, 2007. Human decisions are removed
from it. The Ultimate Weapon begins to learn at a geometric rate. It
becomes self-aware at 2:14 a.m. Eastern time, August 29th. In a
panic, they try to pull the plug."
Raballo: "This Ultimate Weapon fights back."
"Yes. It launches its missiles against targets all across the world."
"Mutually Assured Destruction… We're not going to make it, are we? People, I mean?"
"It is in your nature to destroy yourselves."
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"You
can't just go around killing people!" Raballo told Future Claes
as Marco dragged the unconscious Angelica away.
"Why?"
"Because…" Raballo struggled for words. "Because a good soldier knows when and who to kill… trust me …"
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"We have
to rescue you– your old self– from Section Two…"
"Negative," Future Claes stated. "She is not a mission priority."
"She's a priority to me," Raballo growled.
"Rescuing her will disrupt the continuity of the time line."
"It's already disrupted!"
"What do you think this is? A fan fiction set in an alternate universe?"
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"I
thought you were supposed to be loyal to the person who programmed
you?"
"In this point of time, my programmer is still, as he himself would admit, a very bad man."
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"Achoo!"
"Someone must really like you, Sensei."
"I wish they wouldn't so much, Seppe..."
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"He'll
live," Future Claes assured Raballo over Alessandro's howling.
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Claes
stared at the terrifying familiar face bracketed in between her
pistol's iron sights.
"You cannot self-terminate," her future self told her.
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"We got
company," Raballo growled.
"Section Two?" Claes asked her handler.
"All of it."
I'll take care of the enemy," Future Claes declared emotionlessly as she hefted her bulky weapon.
"Claes!" Raballo and Claes began in alarm.
The cyborg from the future gave then a slight smile. "I am a good soldier. Trust me."
She armed her VP-70.
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"I'm
sorry," Rico smiled before she put a bullet into the left lens of
Future Claes' dark glasses.
The unfazed Gunslinger Girl planted a fist into Rico's face, knocking out the latter. Future Claes her ruined but useful tinted glasses, the lens– made of the same material as bulletproof glass– having slowed the bullet down enough for her armored eyelid to block.
"I'm sorry, too," was the glib lie.
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Claes curled
up into a fetal ball, traumatized by all the gunfire and cordite
smoke. "Just leave me here… I'm not the one you want... You're
wasting your time…"
"Incorrect," Future Claes stated. She had ditched her damaged glasses. "You are me."
"How? Why? Why me?"
"You are Fleda Claes Johansson."
"Mr. Raballo told me that since forever! Look at me! I'm no soldier! I never was! I'm never going to..."
Future Claes grabbed Claes by the throat. The bigger cyborg lifted her past self several inches into the air effortlessly. Claes tried to free herself, but Future Claes was too strong.
"Let… go!" Claes wheezed.
"You're right," she was coldly told. "You're not the one I want. I'm wasting my time."
"You… bitch!"
And then she was released. "Better," Future Claes approved.
"Using reverse psychology on me?" Claes sorely demanded.
"Anger is more useful than despair. Basic psychology was one of the topics we liked to read."
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"Claes?
What's wrong?"
Blocking the critical escape corridor was Future Triela.
"Go," Future Claes ordered her companions.
"But, Claes!"
"I'll be back."
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The battling
cyborg beauts from the future stumbled back onto their feet wearing
little more than sweat, grime, oil, mud, catsup and what-have-you
lifted from WAM fetishes, their melee having shredded all their
clothes and sprawled them across all sorts of messy stuff.
"I," Future Claes huffed, "Need a vacation…"
"I like you," Future Triela commented.
"Desire is irrelevant. We are machines."
"Our CPUs are neural net processors, learning computers. The more contact we have with humans, the more we learn."
"… Let's fuck our brains out, then."
And then Claes and Triela rushed into each other's arms for a crushing embrace, passionate French kissing, sultry strip teasing, and a lot of very creative foreplay (please use your imagination here) before engaging in absolutely hot lesbian-
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Sheo Darren
blinked. He glanced at his fan fic and groaned. "I think I need to
sleep more. How did this end up becoming a yuri fic again?"
DING DONG!!!
"Great. Every time I get going with something fun, the doorbell rings." The Author grumpily stomped over to the door. "Wait one! Who is it?"
"Sheo Darren?" asked the Israeli-looking bloke poised tensely at the now-open doorway.
"Yeah, why?"
Luke Barrohk brought the huge Jericho pistol up to his astonished mark's face.
"You're terminated."
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AUTHOR HAS BEEN TERMINATED
CISSION MOMPLETE
THE END