The darkness slowly lifted from the high-definition plasma screen. Several pairs of cybernetic eyes and ears poised to drink in every detail of the one-of-a-kind experience.
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
"I never thought I'd see the day that you drank on the job."
"Today's a holiday. And it's nine o'clock in the evening. I think we are done for the night."
"I guess we are."
"Cheers."
"Cheers."
The synchronized screaming of several adolescent cyborgs shattered the evening quiet– not to mention the crystal chalices that Jean Croce and Mireille Bouquet were toasting each other with.
"What the heck!?"
Sheo Darren Presents
(To The Sound Of Never Gonna Give You Up)
RICKROLLED
A Life Goes On Fanonverse Story
Disclaimer
I do not own Gunslinger Girl, Noir, any Rick Astley songs or anti-matter oscillations perceived as sound waves. I also do not hold any grudge against Robbie Williams or Robin Williams.
Rolito Miranda and Giuseppe Miranda are my original creations.
Dedication
To Nachtsider, who did a good job of advising me for this fic, and who kept it a secret. Salamat. ^_^
Later that night…
Nella fantasia io vedo un mondo giusto,
Lì tutti vivono in pace e in onestà.
Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,
Come le nuvole che volano,
Pien d'umanità in fondo all'anima.
Angelica fairly soared to the uplifting melody of Nella Fantasia. I got to watch the Il Divo live concert with Marco! I even got a backstage pass and met them personally! She hugged the hardcover notebook hosting precious autographs. I'm so happy! I can't wait to tell the other girls all about the concert!
And then she stopped in mid-pirouette to sniff the air. "Marco?"
"Yes, Angie?"
"Do you smell that?"
"Huh?"
"Something's burning."
In the mostly-empty parking lot, a purple-haired girl stared daggers at the dying glowworms and gray ashes that had once been paper effigies.
I place upon you and your children and your children's children the curse of competence…
In one dorm room:
"Uguu…"
"Henrietta, it's all right… if you think about it, those songs were kind of good–"
"AUUUUUUUUUUUU!!!"
In another dorm room:
Anti-matter oscillations perceived as sound waves spilled out of golden-framed temples and through trembling brown hands to fill the room with numbing cheerfulness.
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
The dratted song is stuck in my head…
Worse, in her mind's eye, she could see her handler, that torpid Teuton, jiggling to the flashy tunes he belted out with such a diabetes-inducing smile.
Increase my conditioning. Now. Please…
Hilshire shivered. He had the feeling that someone was wishing he land badly on his head during an attempt to wall-hop while being drunk.
"We can cross out Padania. Their official site stated that they approve of Il Divo."
"About the only thing they and we can agree about. How about the CRG?"
"Possible, but unlikely. Il Divo's Christian. Not to mention foreign. How about that weapons dealer group Jean mentioned once?"
"Amalgam? What would they want with Il Divo?"
And so on, the silent witnesses the weapons they cleaned and oiled and loaded and locked, until:
"It must be him," they agreed, quite the hive mind.
"Yes. He has reason to hate Il Divo," the Scandinavian elaborated.
"He called them 'idiots'," the Italian determined.
"He blamed them for knocking his album off Number One spot in the UK Charts."
"Il Divo is far superior to that ear-jarring cacophony he put out."
Several minutes citing the defendant's unsavory traits and known transgressions against their idols established an accord.
"He's the one."
"He must die."
The two scheming beauties' eyes locked.
"Robin Williams."
London, England:
For no reason at all, difficult (British English for "eccentric") singer Robbie Williams suddenly felt immensely relieved, as if the long arm of the law was meaning to smack him, but wound up directed at someone else.
Several hours earlier:
The cyborgs were drawn up before their interrogator as if a firing line of Redcoats about to receive a Napoleonic broadside of grapeshot.
Jean was decidedly displeased.
"All right," he growled. "I gave you permission to use the lounge's TV with the understanding that you would behave."
"What happened?" Mireille asked.
"We were going to watch a concert," Triela muttered. "An Il Divo live concert. But it never began."
"They were Rickrolled," Priscilla sheepishly intervened.
The girls all flinched at the term.
Jean eyed the intelligence expert. "What is this– this Rickrolled?"
"It's when someone tricks you into watching a video because you think it is something you like, but in truth it's something else– hence the 'rolling'. It's a prank that originated on the Internet video sharing site Youtube."
"Why was it called Rickrolled?"
"Because the music video first used for the prank was about a song made by a man named Rick Astley."
"How do you know this?"
Priscilla looked even more uncomfortable. "Let's just say I know what they feel…"
Jean dismissed that admission. "But this happened on live television," he considered.
"Yes," Mireille agreed. "That's what worries me."
Half an hour later, Priscilla delivered (mind) breaking news.
"Everyone! I got news on the Rickrolling!"
Handlers and cyborgs glared at the breathless intelligence expert.
"A pair of masked villains had snuck into the TV station, tied up the crew and set things up so that a tape containing Rick Astley songs played instead of the Il Divo concert!"
Mireille later likened the stretch of silence that seized the floor to the calm before a storm.
"The culprits also left a note," Priscilla weakly but bravely continued.
"What did the note say?"
"'You've been Rickrolled'."
Various unique reactions flowed overabundant from all.
"Uwaaaaaaahhhh!!!"
"By the sun I hug, the moon I kiss and the thunder I eat, a Jumbie this man become. Forever he shall walk the land hiding in shame from the sun…"
"He's dead. That terrorist is dead."
Same."
"Hilshire! This is your fault!"
"What? Why me?"
"Angie, why is everyone mad?"
"I don't know, Rico…"
"Who would do such a thing?" Jean coldly mused over the explosions of expletive and exclamations.
At a deserted coffee shop:
"I can't believe we actually did that… Sensei, why did we have to do that again?"
"Seppe, my boy, we're terrorists. We're supposed to terrorize people."
Rolito Miranda chuckled.
Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you