Disclaimer: I own nothing in this fic. not Gunslinger Girl, not G.D. Wallez, not Rico, not Jean... hell, I don't even own an iPod.
Sadist?
Chapter 1:
A Scalp for a Scalp, a Shot for a Shot
A revenge-fueled Gunslinger Girl fanfiction by LoC978... 'Cause somebody needs to look out for the chilluns.
As he hurriedly walked down the corridor to where the deed had been done, Jean was beginning second-guess his decision to send Rico in alone. She was getting much better at acting independently, but... He'd never seen her angry before.
Unconsciously, Jean's left hand went to a scar on his chest from where a poisoned dart had once hit him... The barbed tip had taken a chunk of flesh with it when he pulled it out.
Just how much does she remember, I wonder?
The door up ahead opened, and the 'tool' in question stepped out of it... Jean had seen her splattered with red before, had even seen her smiling when so decorated. Never before had she been so thoroughly covered, though, or the smile been... sadistic... rather than vacant. The handler's first instinct was to berate her, but the words caught in his throat. For the first time, he was afraid of his own protégé...
The axe came at her again, impossibly fast. She felt sluggish, weak... those darts had really done their work. The axe glanced off of her forehead, shearing some of her flesh and hair...
That memory, surprising her with its clarity, caused the little blonde sniper to narrow her eyes angrily.
Never again. No-one will ever catch me off my guard like that. This body is all I have, I'm not gonna lose it.
Rico intended to enjoy this as much as much as G.D. Wallez had seemed to enjoy using his goddamned axe. Never had she been gladder of Jean providing only vague instructions...
An aging Italian man named George Douglas rushed down the corridor of one of his underground complexes.
"I really ought to start eating more fiber," he muttered as he opened the door to one of his private bathrooms.
After settling himself on the toilet seat, G.D. removed an 80GB iPod from his shirt pocket. Chuckling sadistically as he switched it on, the old bastard began replaying his favorite handiwork involving Angelica...
Hearing Angelica cry out in pain, pleading for Marco's help... Rico couldn't take it anymore. The smell was one thing, but... a video recording of her friend's suffering... it was just too much. Rage overcame patience. She squeezed the trigger of her CZ-75, and a bullet whispered out of the end of its suppressor.
"What did you do to him?" Good; it came out cold, expressionless. Not at all the frightened squeak he'd felt like emitting.
"I taught him a lesson, sir," Rico replied in much the same tone, her smile fading.
Repeating instructions back to him... just as though she didn't look like she'd been wrestling a freshly-slaughtered cow. Jean felt mocked.
Something impacted the crown of Wallez' head, knocking him from his porcelain perch. He scrambled to his feet only to be knocked back down by several more painful impacts; to his abdomen this time. Looking down, he saw himself covered in blood. Something dropped down from a ventilation shaft in the ceiling. It was a small blonde girl, her hair cut short... Rico. The axe hanging from the wall of his bedroom still had some of her dried blood on it.
How?
She was standing over him now. Whatever she had shot him with was nowhere in sight. The little blonde smiled a smile that was similar to the one that'd been plastered on his face a few seconds before. He held out his hand in a reflexive, vain attempt at keeping her away. She grabbed his wrist and twisted, and then slammed her other palm into his elbow. It broke with a horribly painful, sickening pop. Wallez cried out in pain, but then was paralyzed with fear when Rico placed her hand on his forehead. She did so gently; almost as though she were a nurse checking his temperature. Rico paused, tilting her head. Her brow furrowed in concentration, though her evil smile remained in place. She seemed to be studying his scalp. Suddenly, her fingers dug into the loose skin of his balding pate, tearing it away from just above his eyebrows to just under his former hairline. It was too much; he blacked out.
"I told you to let him live, Rico," Jean was truly calm again, due to the disappearance of Rico's disturbing smile.
"He'll live, sir," she said, removing the magazine from her pistol.
Jean wordlessly gestured at her, indicating the blood soaking her clothes.
"They were paint rounds, sir... the ones with fake blood in them," having replaced her CZ-75's magazine with a different one, Rico offered up the one she'd just used for his inspection.
One glance confirmed her story.
"Fake... buh... " imagining the look that must have been on Wallez' face, Jean doubled over with a wheezing laugh. The girl's expression remained neutral. She tucked the half-empty magazine into her coat.
Still recovering from his fit of mirth, Jean finally looked into the grisly-appearing bathroom.
Wallez was still unconscious, with his hands cuffed around the toilet... behind his back. It looked to be an extremely uncomfortable position.
"What happened to his forehead, Rico?"
"I tore it off, sir."
"You... tore it off."
"Yes sir. It's right there," She pointed to a lump of bloody flesh on the floor. It was spread neatly over a smashed iPod.
Jean just shook his head as they began walking away. It was all Section 1's problem, now. At least until the questioning...
As if in response to his thoughts, the sadistic smile crept back onto Rico's face.
Edit: I recently read the Colonel's scene involving Rico, G.D., and an axe. After deciphering it (which took quite a lot of work... do you need an editor, man?) I made some minor changes to the fic, to better fit with that scene's canon.