Disclaimer: I do not own Gunslinger Girl or its characters, which were taken from the manga series of the same name, all of which are the property of their creator, Yu Aida. Any similarities to actual people, places, or events are purely coincidental.

Of Shadows and Secrets

Chapter 1: Tracker

Shingo had been a Bikou, a Tracker, for as long as he could remember. It was something one was born into, and to simply know the name of the group that he worked for was either trespassing on grounds to be killed, or a very exclusive honor. Despite the fact that his profession did not receive the proper respect it deserved from the others in the syndicate, he savored every moment of his secretive, shadow-filled life.

On the field, following his targets, he relished the thrill of the "almosts;" almost being spotted, almost being caught, almost being killed. All of these gave Shingo's life a purpose, for if it was constantly on the verge of being lost, then he could truly appreciate his possession of it. Like the other Bikou, Shingo was obsessed with life, specifically the lives of his targets. It was his job, after all, to familiarize themselves with every aspect of a marked person, from the places they go, to the food they eat, and the people they associate with. This, of course, was a very different focus than the assassins of his syndicate, the Hanone, who are constantly fixated on death and how to deal it.

"Shingo," his Mimi, or contact, so to speak, barked at him through his modified black, untraceable cellular phone, "Do you still have the targets in sight?"

"I do," he said secretively, "I'm sending you a picture." He held the phone before him, putting on a perplexed look as if his reception was fading, and snapped a photo of the four people in question, sending it to the person on the other end of the line in a blank text message.

After a pause, the woman's voice came through and said flatly, "I've made a positive I.D. on the targets. The tall, angry-looking blond in the cream suit is Jean Croce, handler of the small blond cyborg codenamed Rico. The smaller, chestnut-haired man in black and red is Alessandro Ricci, handler of the teenaged cyborg Elizabeta Baranovskaya, codenamed Petrushka."

Shingo gave a low, impressed whistled. "So we know quite a bit about them already?" he asked in surprise.

The voice replied plainly, "It is likely that we know more about the girls than they themselves do. No secret can be kept safe indefinitely, especially from us."

"How cautious should I be?" Shingo asked curiously. He always followed his targets as closely as possible. He felt the most alive when he was on the verge of being discovered.

"Extremely," the woman answered, "If you don't mind me saying, I would have preferred a more experienced Bikou be assigned to this mission. I hope you at least understand what an honor it is to be allowed to track our currently greatest threat."

Shingo watched his targets claim their baggage, picking up one duffel bag each. Ricci also picked up a large, cubic metal case which rolled on wheels. They had clearly travelled with as few burdens as possible, and judging by the sizes of the bags, it was unlikely that they had much weaponry.

"They neglected to pack properly," Shingo commented arrogantly.

"Alessandro Ricci is an expert at espionage," the woman warned him, "Information is his most dangerous weapon and Petrushka is his gun. Croce and Rico, however, are both experienced killers. You would do well not to underestimate them."

Shingo ignored the stern speech, following the four subjects out of the granite airport lobby and into the cold, early morning air. The sun hadn't risen yet, but the sky had lightened from what used to be a deep, almost black blue. The Yokohama streets were still lit by neon and streetlights. Even at this time, people (mostly drunks) wandered the streets going from bar, to street vendor, to restroom, to bar. The thought made Shingo's stomach rumble and his throat begged for a drink. He had been waiting in the airport for nearly twelve hours without rest. Now wasn't the time for it, unfortunately, for his targets were currently entering a taxi. He watched Croce, Rico, and Ricci enter the back seats. Shingo caught Petrushka throwing a wink to the taxi driver as she opened the passenger's door to assure him that she would be alright sitting there.

"The targets have boarded Yori's taxi," Shingo reported to the woman.

"Good," she replied, "Follow them."

He obeyed, getting into his plain gray sedan with tinted windows parked nearby. Normally, following a car is hazardous since the shadow has to keep his or her target in sight, oftentimes being forced to disregard street signs and traffic laws. Plus, there is little one can do within a vehicle to mask suspicious behavior. However, because the taxi driver that Shingo was following was a fellow Bikou, keeping track of the targets was as simple as following a moving waypoint on his dashboard GPS.

The taxi wound through brightly lit streets with Shingo occasionally on their tail. At other times he followed using alternate routes to keep himself from lingering for too long on their mirrors. He noticed that the targets seemed to have passed up the most high-end hotels. In his mind, this was their most sensible decision yet, but, he was disappointed when the taxi stopped in front of a large, yet plain complex generally popular among vacationing families. Shingo had hoped that they would have the sense to hide properly. With such a conspicuous location, there was almost no need to have a Bikou on this mission.

He continued to watch silently from across the street where he could see into the lobby and front desk. The four Italians left the taxi (which afterwards pulled around the corner to wait) and made their ways into the hotel. They stopped at the desk where they spoke with a pretty young female receptionist. Following her eyes, Shingo was able to deduce that Ricci was doing most of the talking. Perhaps Croce didn't speak Japanese?

Suddenly remembering, Shingo rolled down his window and fumbled through his glove compartment, producing what looked like a small satellite dish attached to a pistol grip. He put on earphones plugged into the grip and activated the listening device by holding down a trigger. Aiming the cone at his targets, he could hear their conversation. They were speaking Italian, so none of it made sense to him, but he chose to ignore this setback. The only thing that interested him was their room number, so as the receptionist checked her computer for vacancies, Shingo waited and listened to, what was to him, nonsense.

"…could be worse," Alessandro Ricci said to Jean reassuringly, "We could have ended up in Algeria, where neither of us would last a week. I also heard there's a big blizzard over Novgorod, so your brother probably isn't doing too well either."

Somehow picking out the word "Algeria," Shingo spoke into his phone sitting on his dashboard on hands-free mode, "How have the Jackals fared against the invasion over in Algeria?"

The woman on the phone answered uninterestedly, "The Aruji gave Khalid fair warning of Togni's arrival, but as he is travelling by boat I doubt he has landed yet. He will likely reach port by this afternoon. How well Khalid will use the information we gave him, however, is none of our concern."

Shingo turned his attention back to his targets as Jean replied, "I'm not bothered by the weather and at least I know how to speak Russian. I'm at a disadvantage here."

Rico looked about blankly and then tugged at Ricci's sleeve. She said something, but her speaking voice was too quiet for Shingo to pick up with his listening device. What he could hear, however, was when Ricci asked the receptionist the location of the restroom. She pointed down the hall and Rico disappeared from Shingo's line of sight.

"Relax, Jean," Alessandro advised casually, speaking Italian once again, "I know Japanese well enough for both of us. You just focus on doing what you do best, which I assume is killing people."

"Sumimasen," the receptionist cut in quietly, "Excuse me, but it would seem that we do have some vacancies. I highly recommend the Family Suite, Room 403."

"Ah," Ricci replied politely, "That sounds excellent."

Shingo put down the listening device in favor of a notepad in which he wrote down the name of the hotel and the room number that was just mentioned. He relayed this information to the Mimi on the phone.

"Good," she replied, "Stick with them for a little longer, though, in case they change their minds."

At this command, Shingo replaced the earphones of the listening device and turned to continue his mission. He stopped however at the sight that greeted him. Rico was standing outside his door, looking at him eerily. Instead of going to the restroom, she had left the hotel from a fire exit and walked around to where Shingo was watching the front desk.

He stared into the girl's hauntingly vague blue eyes for but a moment. It was like looking Death itself in the face. Rather than panic, the corner of Shingo's mouth twitched and curled up. He chuckled lightly at first, and then began to actually laugh, and loudly at that. His eyes were wide with fear…or was it madness? Joy?

"Shingo," the woman on the phone called to him, "Shingo, what's happening?"

The Bikou did not have an opportunity to reply, however, because it was then that Rico wordlessly revealed a pen engraved with the hotel's insignia clenched in her small, childish fist. Without a sound or emotion, she drove this pen into Shingo's throat, silencing him. After this, she reached into the sedan and removed his cellular phone and listening device, concealing both underneath her long jacket. Before returning to her handler, she rolled up her victim's window as far as she could without closing it on her arm. The tinted glass would conceal the body for but a short time.

Rico turned around and crossed the street where the other three were waiting. Alessandro, after seeing that Rico had reached the assassin's car, had suddenly changed his mind, telling the receptionist that he had forgotten to meet some old friends at their place, and hoped to lodge there if they were permitted to.

"Good job, Rico," Jean praised her flatly as she handed him the phone and listening device.

"You don't even have a drop of blood on you!" Petrushka exclaimed in surprise.

"She was too fast," Alessandro chuckled, "But now that that's over with, let's go to the real hotel. I'm tired." The sun was beginning to rise, the sky turning orange and pink. This meant that it would be much easier to spot and identify the four Italians as the city brightened.

"Do you really think they won't find us?" Jean questioned doubtfully.

"Well," Alessandro replied, "Seeing as we basically closed our eyes and picked the place at random, I'd say they would have to do the same to locate it. That's of course assuming we don't do anything to draw attention to it."

"What should we do about the guy in the taxi?" Petra asked.

Jean answered without much thought, "Let him live. Allowing him to report his friend's failure and death should send a message to the entire syndicate."

"What would that be? 'We're here and we're ready to go to war?'" Sandro asked jokingly.

"That's the basic gist of it," Jean replied, as always, in full earnestness.