AN: I don't own Airwolf; Mr. Bellesario does. I don't own Gunslinger Girl either; that belongs to Yu Aida and Funimation.

Volare

By The Lady Razorsharp

"What are they called again?"

Marella tapped the dossier in the folder. "They're called fratello, which means 'siblings.' The men are known as 'handlers,' and they're responsible for the girls' training."

There was a sheaf of surveillance photos in the dossier, mostly of a dark-haired handler walking along a street with a young girl with reddish hair. Michael picked out one of the photos and frowned at it; the girl, clad in a grey school uniform complete with pleated skirt and knee socks, was carrying an Amati violin case.

He chuckled mirthlessly. "There's no violin in that case," he murmured, returning the photo to the stack.

"It's a Sig Sauer P90." Marella picked another photo out of the sheaf and slid it over. "Fully automatic, 900 rounds per minute, and only 6 pounds fully loaded."

The image was blurry and grainy, as if taken while the camera was moving, but Michael could clearly see the selfsame uniformed girl, only this time she was clutching a gun nearly as big as she was. Her features were only in profile, but there was no mistaking the determined set of her jaw. Her stance was that of a trained soldier, despite the bloodstain that marked the right sleeve of her sweater.

"Looks like someone taught her how to use it, too." Michael put down the photo of the girl and exchanged it for a snapshot of a gruesome scene: Men lying in bloody heaps; a room with walls pitted and pockmarked by gunfire; a shattered window with blinds hanging crazily from one corner.

Marella leaned against Michael's desk, crossing her arms over her spotless white suit jacket. "Our teams in the European sector have spotted other pairs of men and young girls whom they suspect of being fratello. This one was seen in Paris last week." She selected a picture which featured an older girl with long blonde pigtails, her Amati case in hand as she followed two steps behind a scowling, dark-haired man.

"Another budding 'violinist,'" Michael said thoughtfully. "Where did these two end up?"

Marella smirked. "Shortly after the sighting, the team lost track of them. Two days later, a crime boss on Interpol's Most Wanted list was found dead in a city park. The man had ties to the Padania Republic Faction."

"Could have been someone else," said Michael, playing Devil's Advocate. "Crime bosses usually aren't very popular."

Marella shook her head. "Half an hour before his death, the man was seen buying an ice cream cone for a young girl from a vendor in the park. When the vendor was questioned, he said that the man had done so because the girl reminded him of his granddaughter."

"Let me guess-the girl had blonde pigtails and was carrying an Amati violin case." Michael sighed. "And now the Committee wants us to get our own fratello."

"That was Zeus' recommendation, yes. Apparently he and the Committee are very impressed with their success rates." She crossed to her dark brown leather briefcase and pulled a thick blue-backed report from it. "Here's some light reading for your weekend-a more detailed report on the Committee's findings on the Social Welfare Agency's activities."

"Little girls with guns," he murmured, tossing the report on his desk. "I'm sorry I couldn't go to the meeting myself," he apologized, but Marella gave him an understanding smile.

"Since this project is still in the proposal stage, it doesn't take first priority. Besides, this was right up my alley; it's a fascinating project, even if it's ultimately a tragic one." She sighed, finally letting a modicum of pity for the young assassins into her expression. "I understand the need for young subjects; both the physical and psychological conditioning is easier to implant at an early stage. However, the side effects are devastating. The chemicals plus the cybernetic implants take years off their lives, and most don't live past the age of eighteen."

"Well, from what you've said, these girls were forgotten by the system. They're victims of violent crime, or have incurable illnesses that drain their families' finances. They were bought and sold on the black market as toys for the sick people of the world." Michael nodded at the folder lying on his desk. "Now they have a chance for justice and to live useful lives for as long as they can."

"And all they have to do in return is the Italian government's dirty work." She scowled. "I don't see how that's a fair trade."

Michael's eyebrows rose. "May I remind you that we have a four billion dollar 'jet chopper' at our disposal that does the United States government's 'dirty work' on a regular basis?"

Marella rose from her perch on the edge of the desk and restlessly walked to the windows. She crossed her arms and stared unseeing at the verdant countryside that surrounded the Firm's sprawling complex. "I don't have a problem when things like this involve adults like Hawke or Santini. They're free to walk away at any time-provided they leave Airwolf at the door."

Michael couldn't hide a smile; Marella knew as well as he did that the chances of that happening were slim to none, but he kept the comment to himself.

"These girls are brainwashed," Marella continued unhappily. "They're pumped full of performance-enhancing drugs that empty them of their childhood memories-both good and bad. They're handed automatic weapons and taught to care for them like favorite toys." She shuddered. "Off the record, sir, the whole thing gives me the creeps."

"It gives me the creeps, too." Michael collected the pictures and put them back into the folder, and then put the folder with the thick report and placed everything in his briefcase. "It'd be nice to think that children everywhere are allowed to be children-except we know better." He snapped the briefcase shut. "When do we meet them?"

Creeps or no, Marella was instantly all business. "Monday morning, sir. The head of the department and two of the fratello are coming to meet with Zeus and the Committee at 0800."

Michael nodded. "And we'll be ready for them."