"Gunslinger Girl" series Property of Yu Aida

Original Characters property of Author "Person With Many Aliases"

Indiscrete References copyright to likewise respective properties.


"Mom" didn't want her, and "Dad" was too rich and famous: He couldn't afford to take custody of a child that shouldn't exist. So she made a family the streets. Her new brother was a steel pipe, her cousins was all the money she could get. Biting, bleeding, scratching bruising, that was how she lived.

She knew she was destined for greater things.

She passed by one of the orphanages she sometimes shook down for food. Men in suits were there, asking for volunteers in a new state-of-the-art medical program.

She shoved her way through and signed herself up, top of the list.

Stardom, baby, here I come…


But was he happy? No. Every night he would cry, begging the Lord. Something deep within needed awakening…

Person With Many Aliases Presents:

"Idolatry Symbiosis"

A Gunslinger Girl Fanfiction


She was probably the most Ironic of all the teams, not the mention the oldest, at 13. She was raised on the streets, she had to learn to be loud and dangerous and hateful.

Now she was Love, of Handsome Pink, the team that stressed silent deaths. And her handler was a black guy.

The old humanity in her wanted her to replace "black" with "nigger", like she did on the streets. Emir would have beat up her upside the head though. Unlike the rest of her soft teammates and handlers, Emir wouldn't think twice to use force to show her who was boss. She was used to it.

She loved to hate Emir. Or did she hate to love Emir? He was like her anti-thesis. She was some stupid Chinese bitch gangster wannabe that was desperate enough to sign into the Handsome Men to get somewhere. He was that amazing tall black guy in a white suit, machismo and strength. He turned himself from a point of racial hate into Bloody Heartland, one of the most amazing assassins to grace the face of the planet. The Handsome Men actually asked him to join as a Handler.

She was jealous of him. He was like the god of all the little things in the world. She felt insignificant next to him.

The bastard even had a better gun than her!

Love gritted her teeth and whipped out from behind her cover, black hair with blonde highlights flying around in a high ponytail. She let her Walther give it to the paper terrorists that littered the room. She wore blue jean overalls over a plain white shirt. The simple things always worked best. (She still wanted a classy suit like Emir's, though)

No, it wasn't a Walther P99, it was a PPK Special. That's right, that same pissy James Bond gun. Emir had the gall to hand her that while somewhere in that suit was a gold-plated Desert Eagle!

"So a Surgeon with a Scalpel, the weapon is to the killer. Caliber doesn't count. Whether it hits, does." That was the lesson Love had to learn before she could pick up anything bigger.

She always made sure to hit. Eight bullets. One for each head, every time. She needed to get better, needed to be stronger. What did Emir do? What did he do to rise above humanity and become that amazing killer?

As soon as she exited the concrete jungle of targets and walls, she came face to face with Emir, who stood passively outside, arms crossed.

Love put up a straight face when she looked at him. Didn't want to look weak. Didn't want to look like she needed his praise. "How did I do?"

"You're improving. You're done for today. We might have a job later, so stay ready."

"Of course."

Love cursed Emir's back that walked away from him. Cursed herself for feeling weak.

She thought she was stronger than to feel that pit in her stomach.


Love kicked her way into the cafeteria. Lunchtime. As usual, most of the girls were there. And there was Danielle in the center stage again, crying her goddamn eyes out for losing to a stupid normal human.

Ashely noticed Love approaching.

"What the hell you looking at, you stupid mute?" Love hissed. Ashley merely shrugged and returned to her food. Love didn't feel like food. She just grabbed a drink out of the fridge, and went to piss the hell out of somebody for the hell of it.

Danielle stuck her head out for first kill. "Hey, don't be mean… Ashley's nice." She objected through her (possibly over acted) sniffles, "Just because you're old-"

"Because I'm old, I have the damn right to say whatever I want! I'm your senior in age anyways!"

Danielle seemed to pale at the words. Jihad as always, sighed. She was probably the only person who had the attitude to match Love.

"Jeez, Love. Stop being a bitch and lashing out at everyone. Did Emir do anything?"

"No, Emir certainly did not do anything wrong, and you are a total retard to believe he'll ever do anything wrong anyways."

Matilda responded "Our Handlers are only human-"

"Fuck! Don't say that! How the hell could you even think that! The Mechanical Bodies are probably the most powerful thing in the planet. How much more great should our handlers be, to be able to command people like us?"

There was a certain amount of thought that came with that. Love did bring up a good point. To each and every one of them, the Handlers couldn't simply be called 'normal'… but were they gods?

Love moaned, annoyed. "God! I just wish I was better! Then Emir would notice me… fuck, all your Handlers are too soft. Especially yours, Danny-girl!"

"Vincent's not soft… He's just… not used to it yet!"

"Hell yeah, he's soft! Emir came after Vincent, and he's got me jumping through hoops like it was the back of his hand."

"Different professions yield different scars of war…" Matilda mused.

That also seemed a good enough comment to still everyone.

"Well, my Handler's still better than your Handler!"

"Hell no! Jose could kick Emir's ass!"

"NO!"

"Liam's better!"

"Mr. Leon is the best Handler."

"NO!"

"UH HUH!"

The conversation quickly degenerated to the way of adolescent girls.


"Handsome Blue may have failed in eliminating Colt, but the bombing was stopped, and even more good news."

"Yes?"

"We've looked up the materials made in the bomb. Has a very unique signature to its make. Combined with a few off-hand comments that were found in the documents that Handsome Dead obtained, we can draw reasonable conclusions as to whose making the bombs."

"And what's the group?"

"Terrorist-Bomber cell. Call themselves Union Seven. A little bit too egotistical for their own good. They seemed to have confused bomb making with music band publicity. They even have a website."

The PowerPoint showed a picture of the group posed in front of the camera. They sure did have a taste for theatrics. One of them was even wearing a Mexican wrestling mask over their face.

"So we know who did this. Can we pin point their locations based on description?"

"We went through registers. A group of six people checked into the Union Hotel. They pretty much stay there all the time, from what we've gathered from hotel receipts. We take them out, we can avert the bomb problems for now. Might be a slap in the face for kNIGHTS as well."

"So who's going?"

"We've arranged for the hotel to be empty and cordoned off at midnight. Handsome Pink will be in charge of this affair."


The black van was on the move again. Handsome Mobile to the rescue.

Emir was reading through the document copies, iterating to Love, who was loading her magazines with bullets, the Walther beside her.

"From what we've gathered, they're all living in separate rooms. One of them disguises himself in the Lobby as look out. The rooms they lived in are 203, 306, 404, 502, and 601. We've also got photos of them. Take a look."

Love hummed through the stack of pictures. "…Pretty international group, huh?"

"I suppose there's something to the name, 'Union' after all."

The driver then spoke. "We're at the destination. Handsome Pink, deploy."

As the two jumped out into the midnight, Love's deity in a white suit turned to look down on her. "You take the lead, Love. I want to see your moves."

Love almost smiled and let her eyes water in gratitude. She instead pulled back the slide on her suppressed gun, before concealing it.

"Enjoy the show… Bloody Heartland…"


The bellhop in the lobby yawned. Another boring night. Night shifts sucked.

Just then, the sliding glass doors made way for a pair of unusual characters. That was a switch. For hours nobody comes in, then the dynamic duo suddenly pops up.

A big black guy in a white suit with a hand casually slipped between the jacket folds. Next to him was a small Chinese girl holding a teddy bear.

"Welcome to Union Hotel! How may I help you?"

The girl held up her teddy bear from behind, "You can die."

The Bellhop's forehead crumpled inwards in a shower of red. The teddy bear's chest smoked for a second, before Love ripped the fuzzy apparel off her silenced gun.

As she headed behind the counter to grab the electronic skeleton key, Emir questioned like any good teacher. "And what makes you presume he's one of the bombers?"

"You said he kept a look out in the lobby. I don't see anyone else here, right? Lookouts always have to be at their place otherwise they're useless. Plus I recognized his face." Love held the key up, "Coming?"

"After you."


They went to room 203. When Love opened the door, she came upon a hyper Chinese guy who was jumping from one double bed to another, drinking soda while watching pay per view porn. He stopped on one bed when he noticed the other Chinese in the room.

"Huh? I did not order room service!" He said in an extremely accented voice. Love simply raised her gun and blew his head off, making the dead man fall off the bed.

"Room Service knocks on the door before entering, retard."

They headed up the stairs to Room 306. Sliding the skeleton key into the electronic lock, Love easily slipped into an empty dark room. The sounds of a working shower could be heard through the next door. Quietly entering, she found herself in a steam filled bathroom, while a silhouette washed his head with raised arms. Apparently he didn't notice the new presence, being immersed in the amazing sensation of being wet.

He was facing sideways to Love, so his arms were covering his head. His lungs were wide open, though. She pointed her gun lower. Two shots, and the man was collapsing into the tub, clutching his side, and drowning in blood. She noticed the wrestling mask that lay on the sink counter.

"I guess wrestling is faked after all, if you can't take a shot to the lungs."

As she left the room, and met with Emir outside, the two of them heard a voice.

"Oh my god…"

It was the girl bomber, the Japanese one. She apparently was heading over to the mask guy's pad when she came in on the two of them, Love with the gun.

The woman turned around with a scream, and ran up the stairs. Handsome Pink easily strode after her.

It sickened Love somewhat, watching the Japanese run away, dashing into her room to cower. What a real team player. Even, Love, for all that emotion she lacked for her teammates (the actual amount was debatable), would still at least gone out of her way to warn the rest of the Handsome Men.

Love easily opened the door once more, and found her pointed gun facing an empty room. Even the bathroom seemed unoccupied.

She hearing picked up anxious gasping. Coming from the closet.

You've got to be joking. "Emir, my bullets aren't big enough. You kill her."

"As you wish." He pointed that god colored Desert Eagle at the doors of the closet and fired several times into the center.

The Japanese woman slumped out, her stomach bloody through her white clothes.


Room 502 shook things up for a change.

"Fucker! God fuck yourself up the ass and die!" A South American voice screamed through the door, before several shots split through the wood, attempting to hit anything that was on the other side.

Handsome Pink, beside the entrance, looked at each other quizzically.

"Fuck yourself up the ass?" Love repeated, eyebrow raised.

"He obviously heard the gunfire. As you can see, this is what results when you sacrifice stealth for firepower. One step forward, one step back."

"Jeez! Don't be a killjoy, Emir! I'll figure this out…" Love grumbled as she slid the skeleton key through the lock.

As the two barged through the door, they managed to catch sight of the fleeting form of a bearded man clad in underwear and clutching a revolver, as he scurried around the corner. It nearly made Love blind.

This man was a major grade A retard. He didn't even seem to notice the window on the other side of the room was giving away his every movement. Love decided to pop off a shot or two at the corner next to the bomber to keep him where he was.

"Stalemate. We can't approach each other without taking fire." Emir noted.

"Fuck you! Whoever the fucking are! Cuntfucks!" The South American continued to swear. Love just snorted as she watched the man's movement's in the window…

Wait a sec…

Love noticed that outside the window was a balcony. It appeared connected to next door.

"Emir?" She prodded as she turned to her Handler. Motioning for him to stay, here easily nodded, before bringing up his Desert Eagle to bear, slamming more rounds into the wall, and keeping the bomber where he was.

Love was already moving out of the room, and headed next door, room 503. She entered the vacant room, and quickly marched outside into 503's outdoor balcony. It was even an adjoined balcony, shared with the South American's room. Perfect.

Back in 502, the bearded man didn't notice the silhouette outside his window until it was too late.

Glass shattered; the Walther planted a slug into his head, dropping him to the ground with a dull thud.

That left one more bomber, in room 601.


Sometimes, Emir's thinking completely boggled Love. But then again, Emir was Emir. She should know better than to question the methods of the famous assassin.

But still. The last guy was just standing there with a smirk on his face, hand and gun tucked under an armpit. He even had the gall to ask Emir over for a drink, like he wasn't afraid of him.

And Emir agreed. What the hell?

The two sat in front of each other, across the coffee table. The last bomber with that oh-so-smart look on his face was helping himself to a beer. Emir didn't make a motion. Love stood by, ready to defend or attack at any moment.

"So… I recognize that gun. You're the Bloody Heartland, aren't you?"

"And what if I am?"

"You've been killing since you were thirteen! An unstoppable killing record! I don't know whether to have the honor of knowing you, or having the honor of killing you!"

Love immediately had her gun pointed at the man, who raised his own gun to start the stand off. Emir merely gave a dark look at his charge.

"Gun down, Love. You'll kill him when I tell you to."

"…Sorry." She bit out.

"By the way, since when did the unstoppable killing machine get himself a student? That's not like you, from what I hear."

"From what I hear, they say everything about me from being a midget with a dagger, to a shaman that commands ghosts of dead soldiers. I've killed the other five members of Union Seven, now there's only you left."

That irritated the man, who glared. "You think you can scare me? You can't kill this party! Union Seven's gonna burn every government to the ground, and let mankind start from the beginning! You actually are going to get in the way of true freedom? True justice?"

"Since it pays." Emir replied, drawing his gun. The bomber's own gun also was drawn at the same time. The last of the Union Seven flew was knocked backwards over his seat in a spray of blood.

"Hey! I thought you said I was going to kill him!" Love exasperatedly replied.

As Emir walked past her, he simply answered, "Did I lie?"

Love snorted and walked over to the bomber on the ground. He was bleeding badly, choking, but still conscious. Love put another bullet into his head, stilling him.

"Fine, you didn't."

"Let's go, Love. Clean up will handle this in the morning. Good job on leading the charge."


Ashley was in her room, letting darts fly from her hand to the bull's eye on the other side, when Love entered.

The two stared.

"What?"

Ashley shrugged and continued to play darts, but she did notice a near imperceptible aura of happiness enveloping the older girl, a certain hidden springiness in her step.

As Love settled onto the upper bunk, she noticed a slip of paper rise into her view.

DID EMIR SAY SOMETHING NICE TO YOU FINALLY?

Love huffed and snatched the sheet out of Ashley's hand. "Don't say that. Everything Emir says is a perfectly timed fact, since he's perfect!"

With that, the stupid Chinese bitch slept easy.


It's easy to place things on pedestals. Just mind you don't break your neck in the process.

Idolatry Symbiosis: End