Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Those GG characters in my closet are clones, I SWEAR. I'm just a penniless actress. No suing me, please!
A/N: I thank you all for your kind words regarding the prologue. I'm glad that the story is likeable so far, despite the fact that my prologues are usually very short. Hopefully you all will enjoy the first chapter…it's considerably longer, as you can tell. Again, I'll ask you to tell me if you see anything wrong, etc., because I don't have a beta. If anyone would be interested in beta-ing, that would be cool, too…hint hint. Heehee.
And now, onward to chapter one!
Chapter I: A Parisian Introduction
The first thing Millia noticed as she approached the Headquarters' great double doors was that these two men dressed in blue and white ahead of her were the only sentries keeping watch of all the front entrances. At this realization, she furrowed her brow, frowning disapprovingly. She had taken her time walking up the stone walkway-it was more than a little obvious that she was here and she was coming-yet these two were leaning casually on their spears, chatting, either oblivious to her or just disregarding her presence.
They're lacking reinforcements, she thought, as she listened to the men talk about the recent arson of their favourite restaurant. Maybe they're making robots because people aren't rushing to the ranks anymore…no one's signing up…
The busted robot jerked violently, and she tightened her hair around it so firmly, she heard something crack. She regretted to realize that she didn't much care at the moment-her impatience was growing and growing quickly.
"Excuse me," she said, and was infuriated to hear that she received no response from the guards, even though she was standing right in front of them. They jabbered on, blissfully unaware of her presence, and though she would never actually do such a thing, Millia noted dryly that if she were to attack, she'd knock them both into the ground in thirty seconds flat and be on her merry way.
"Excuse me," she said, much more loudly, though none of her aggravation surfaced in her tone. Even still, the two goons jumped, and turned to face her with a sloppy façade of antagonism.
"What's your business?" one of them snapped, glaring unaffectedly. Millia met his gaze firmly and without effort, her face blank.
"Forgive my intrusion," she said, her voice monotonous but unflappably polite. "I have no invitation. I came across something I believe is the property of the International Police Force not long ago. A robot."
She raised her hair up and brought it and its burden in front of her, unwinding several strands so that only the machine's busted face was revealed. It spasmed and started jabbering again, making both guards jump, and Millia wisely covered it as quickly as possible. They were looking at her suspiciously now—no doubt because of her hair.
"Where did you find that?" the same guard who had spoken before asked, sadly unable to mask the fear in his voice.
"Not far from the city," she replied dryly, and unintentionally flinched. There was a cut on the corner of her mouth that stung when she spoke.
Sadly, the guards noticed, and looked at her pointedly with softened expressions. Pity. Surely they noticed the marks all over her body before, but, as she hadn't done anything to indicate pain aside from that one wince, surely she seemed more human to them now. She felt a tremor of impatience and anger.
"It attacked you?" asked the second sentry, the one who before had yet to speak.
"Yes, it attacked me," Millia replied, a trifle frostily. Really now, wasn't that obvious!
The men exchanged a would-be, conspiring glance, and nodded in unison. They almost looked official. Almost.
"All right," the first one said. "Proceed."
She didn't conceal her surprise, "That's all?"
"We've had several complaints regarding robotic impersonators of officers of the law," the second one explained, as if he'd memorized words from a script but had not bothered to check which emotion it made sense to read them with.
"We apologize for the inconvenience," the first added. "Miss?"
"Driver," Millia replied evenly, taking the first false name she could think of. It wouldn't help to tell these idiots her name. She wasn't in the mood to deal with this any longer than she had to.
"Miss Driver," the first said with a curt nod. "The head officer is in his study at the moment."
"The second floor."
"Third door on the left."
"There'll be sentries. We'll inform them that you're on your way."
They showed her walkie-talkies. Not in the least bit impressed, she nodded.
"Thank you," she said, and without voicing a single one of the questions in her head, strode past the two of them and into the main parlour of the International Police Force Headquarters. Here, she paused for a moment, just looking at her surroundings.
Outside, the storm raged, She was still dripping water, shivering from it. But despite her discomforts, in here, where she was dry, the flashing lightning and jarring bellows of thunder was almost…pretty. There was a window just in front of her that displayed the beauty of the storm's ire, and Millia watched it, impressed despite herself. She remembered then that the head of the International Police Force had a sacred lightning sword in his possession, and though she couldn't exactly remember the name of the weapon, she nonetheless kept that in mind for speaking to him as she climbed the marble staircase.
Up on the second floor, the floor trembled beneath her feet. She could still hear the brutal sound of the thunder, but it seemed farther away now, unimportant. However, there was no escaping the brightness of the lightning. She glanced only briefly out a coal-black window, and was instantly greeted by a jagged, blinding ray of deadly light. Did it always rain here in Paris?
She paused in her stride, having reached what had to be the study of the head officer. The oaken doors were gilded, and two sentries whom Millia could have sworn were related to the goons outside stood before them.
"Name?" one asked.
"Driver," Millia said again, and the robot spasmed violently inside her hair. The sentries didn't question it. They merely stepped aside.
Clearly they're lacking reinforcements, Millia thought as she strode forward, nodding politely. No one is questioning my hair? It's a Gear!
Briefly, she contemplated why it was that she wanted to make things harder for herself, but then the doors closed behind her and she found herself face-to-face with—
A wreck.
His desk that he was sitting at was set right in front of another grand window, like the one downstairs, and almost on cue, a bolt of lightning slashed the sky in half with brutal incandescence. In that second or so of bright light, she saw splotches of deep purple beneath his eyes, cracked, pursed lips, gnarled hands, blank eyes. She jumped, startled by the semi-horrific image, but then the lightning faded, and the tame candlelight revealed the visage of a handsome, but clearly exhausted young man half-buried beneath piles of paperwork. It seemed to take a moment for him to notice that she was there, but when he did, an obvious expression of surprise rippled across his features. Then, something Millia didn't like at all. Recognition.
"Good evening," he said genially, but also tiredly. "Please, sit down."
Millia didn't move.
"I'd rather not," she told him bluntly. "I'd rather get this over and done with."
He eyed her carefully, but didn't press the matter.
"Very well," he said. "I'm told you found a robot?"
"It attacked me, actually," she replied shortly, swinging her hair around and dumping the busted machine on the ground like the garbage it was. As she shook her locks free of the soot and the fragmented metal, she noticed dimly that he was not watching her still form, but instead the golden strands wafting through the air on their own accord. She didn't much care, though. She wasn't lying when she said she wanted to get this done with as quickly as possible—she was exhausted.
He bowed his head.
"I apologize," he said, standing up and weaving his way around the desk. Millia noticed the lightning sword she'd remembered earlier leaning against the windowsill, crackling with electricity. Approaching her unarmed? Were these people stupid?
"Apology accepted," she said. "I won't be filing any suits, as your machine-"
"They aren't our machines," he corrected.
"What?" she blurted, before she could stop herself. Her hair fell limply to the ground.
"They were created by our opposition," he explained, somewhat sheepishly, running a slender and frail-looking hand through his own hair.
"I see," Millia replied flatly, not pursuing the topic, even if it had piqued her curiosity. Another time, maybe, if she didn't read about it in the newspaper. "Well, I'll be on my-"
"It wounded you," he interrupted, his eyes sweeping over her body in a silent assessment of her injuries.
Something inside her heart stung.
"No it didn't," she nearly snapped.
He looked at her.
"They're from another battle," she added through gritted teeth, but he still didn't look away.
"Well, thank you, nonetheless," he said, and finally, she was the one to avert her gaze. She still felt his eyes on her, though. There was silence for a long moment, and when Millia heard the distant boom of thunder outdoors, she was reminded of her intention to not stay long, and turned away. Then, however, was when the officer chose to speak up again.
"Miss Rage, are you aware that there is a bounty on your head?"
Hearing her own name startled her, but when she looked to him with her guard up, ready to attack, she saw only earnest compassion in his eyes. It bothered her, far more than simple hostility would have.
"There is no bounty on my head anymore," she said, chastised. "My name was taken off of that list long ago."
She knew her words were false, even as she spoke them. It seemed that he did as well.
"Will you sit down now?" he asked, and she nodded mutely, accepting the chair he offered. He sat down too, in his chair behind the desk, and she felt a tremor of unease, with him being so close to his weapon again.
"Tea?" he offered amicably. A ghost of a smile flickered across his mien, but then was lost to sullen fatigue.
"No thank you," she replied, politely, but firmly. Ten minutes. Ten minutes of his time, that was it. She was already counting down the seconds in her head.
He nodded, unoffended, and folded his hands.
"You've most likely been aware of this for quite some time, but a new bounty list has been distributed."
"A false bounty list," she corrected with thinly veiled impatience.
Pricked by her tone, he nodded reassuringly.
"Obviously, the list was not produced by the International Police Force," he said. "And as those robots also aren't ours…you can see that we have a problem here. The list is still circulating-"
"What?" she interrupted. "What did you say?"
"The false bounty list," he repeated, somewhat flustered. "The one…with your name on it. We…we haven't been able to track down all of the lists, and with those robotic impersonators making a mess of things, well, it's becoming increasingly difficult to convince the public that the list is false."
Millia slumped in her chair, feeling very much like hitting something.
"You're meaning to tell me," she began, bringing both palms to her face in a gesture of utter hopelessness, "that not only is there a false list going around, but that you can't even do anything about it?" This was the last straw. First, the idiocy of the two "sentries" outside, and now this!
"Well, see, that's why I asked you to stay for a bit, Miss Rage," he said awkwardly. She looked at him expectantly through the gaps between her fingers, and he went on, speaking very quickly.
"Your name is on the list, when, clearly, it shouldn't be. Obviously, we're uh…lacking reinforcements, and as I understand, you have quite a bit of experience under your belt. You would want to set things straight, right? I'm sure that you wouldn't want your name on a bounty list. Besides, wouldn't you want to know who's behind this?"
She dropped her hands away from her face, and simply looked at him for a long moment. Young. Too young. The hope shone blatantly in his eyes, in a way that made her both pity and envy him. He truly, honestly expected her to say yes. To be so naïve!
"What's your name?" she asked tiredly, unwilling to directly discuss the proposition just yet.
"Ky," he replied. "Ky Kiske."
She nodded stiffly. So that was it. She'd heard it before, but hadn't remembered.
Several moments passed in which the storm raged on outside, and Ky sat patiently before her, his hands neatly folded and resting on the desk in front of him. Millia contemplated silently, her eyes half-closed, tentatively prodding the inside of her cheek with her tongue.
Well, his points were all valid. She did want her name off of that bounty list. She had worked far too hard to get it off the first one, and yes, she did want to know who it was that put her name on the second. Her reputation was sullied again, and it was irksome now that she had a chance to start over.
Start over.
She furrowed her brow and bit her lip, violently shoving back the onslaught of fresh pain. She was supposed to be done with fighting. Done.
But there's nothing else to do, nowhere else to go, argued the voice of reason and logic. No obstacles to eliminate. Besides whoever put your name on that list. Here's as good a start as any.
"Well, Mr. Kiske," she said softly, and didn't even have to look up to see that he had focused his entire being on her. "Your points are quite unarguable."
"You'll join us, then?" he asked, eagerly. She smiled briefly, amused by his eagerness.
"I will aid you in whatever way I can in arresting this culprit," she said blandly, her mirth short-lived. Now, she looked at him, raising a warning brow. "But only so much."
He nodded exuberantly, nonetheless, which also amused her. "Very good, Miss Rage," he said. "Welcome. There are lodgings available right here in the Headquarters. I will send someone to dress your wounds, and you can rest. Is tomorrow all right, to begin?"
Millia looked at him for a long moment, and nodded, rising out of her chair.
"Tomorrow is perfect."