Tire Tracks and Spent Casings
A Gunslinger Girl Fanfic by MP5
Disclaimer: Gunslinger Girl is the property of Yu Aida. All trademarks featured herein are copyright their respective owners. Allison, Brian, as well as other original characters herein are property of MP5 unless otherwise noted. Kara Pagani and Michele Pagani are the property of the author Kiskaloo.
Chapter 2: Then and Now, Part 1
Those who saw the Allison-Brian fratello pull into the SWA compound at dusk noted the paradoxical state of the resident Gen II cyborg driver. One half of this state was the fact that Allison was smiling. That in itself is not unusual, as Allison is a generally cheerful, exuberant girl, perhaps more so than her handler had expected to deal with. However, what was unusual was that while doing this, she was driving sedately, arriving behind Giuseppe and Henrietta as they entered the parking lot. Normally, the gates had to be opened well in advance to anticipate Allison's heavy-footed driving, normally flying through the entryway at triple the posted limit before executing some kind of elaborate display reminiscent of the stunt driver Russ Swift before parking her car perfectly in its space as part of that stunt. They would also expect Brian McDonnell to be frightened, shaking, queasy, or any combination of the three as he got out of the passenger's side of whatever Allison chose to drive at the moment.
The confusing sight was quickly clarified once onlookers saw what they had dragged, or rather towed in with them behind one of the Ford Transit vans that had been on the mission to capture Marconi D'Innocenzo. Connected via a tow bar and transported very carefully was none other than Marconi's now captive Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder, with its orange color split down the middle by a very sporty black racing stripe, a custom paint job that the Padanian kidnapper had a shop apply to his most prized toy. A toy that was evidently now the trophy of Section 2's "Petrolhead Princess."
Allison pulled into her designated parking spot, in between a Lancia Delta HF Integrale Evoluzione II and a 1985 Toyota Corolla GT-S, both of which were hers as well. Brian got out first, grumbling about how he would have to file a request for yet another additional parking spot. He passed another Gen II cyborg and her handler, this one of Franco-Japanese descent, and the cyborg had come out to meet Allison. More importantly, she had come to ask questions about the same model of supercar her handler had recently bought currently sitting in the parking lot hitched to a nondescript panel van.
"Hey, Allison." greeted the other cyborg with a wave.
"Hi, Kara!" replied Allison. "It's good to be back here after today."
"Something go bad on the mission?"
"Oh no, the mission went well, and I even had fun doing it!"
"I can imagine." said Kara before a burning question in her mind rose to the surface. "Let me cut to the chase. Just how," she began, pointing at the striped Gallardo Spyder, "did you bring that home? A present from Brian? Did he finally stumble upon some money?"
"Actually, I took it from the target of today's mission. He's been whisked away by the government; he's got no use for it anymore. I've been too hard on poor Brian's funds lately, what with my tuning and fuel usage and all. I had to beg him for this one, and when he realized this would be a freebie, all he had to do was place a call to Chief Lorenzo. I think I'm being sort of a pain, though."
"Trust me, Allison." said Kara's handler, Michele. "Compared to shelling out €200,000 Euros for that thing, Brian's getting the deal of the century when all he has to do is fill out a parking permit form and have someone fudge Marconi's title and registration so that the car is yours."
"I guess so, heh-heh." chuckled the British cyborg. Meanwhile, Kara was doing a walk-around of Allison's new trophy. She stopped when she came to the bonnet over the engine compartment and noted a deformation in the aluminum skin of the cover.
"Hey Allison, what happened here?"
Allison rushed over and saw what her friend was talking about. "Oh, that. Well, here's the thing. Marconi got pissed that I led him into the X-net trap and obviously wanted to kill me. He had just a knife, which explains this." she said, gesturing to her wounded arm. "So one thing led to another, and before I knew it, I smashed his head into the hood, and while that knocked him out, I hurt the poor baby, so I quickly popped most of the dent back out. I still need to buff it out, but after that, she'll be as good as new."
"You really love cars, don't you?" said Kara rhetorically.
"I could ask you the same question. I think we both know the answer to that, whether addressed to you or me." said Allison, and the two grinned. Michele approached them and shook Allison's hand.
"As a fellow Gallardo Spyder owner, all I can say is Congratulations. You'll definitely enjoy driving it."
Meanwhile, in his personal quarters, Brian was struggling to fill out paperwork so that his cyborg could keep her trophy car at the compound. Certainly, he was worried about how they would manage to tamper with Marconi's legal ownership of the car on paper. As he deliberated, he gazed upon a nondescript binder that he knew very well. Opening to the first page, he saw a picture of a blonde-haired teenage girl with brown eyes crouched next to a very clean brand-new Caterham Roadsport SV equipped with the wheels and tires from the Superlight models. The paint job on this particular Roadsport was a custom one, Pearlescent Lime Green with twin orange racing stripe. The girl in the picture was beaming with pride. As Brian looked at the page, he saw the caption under the picture:
"Shelby Mercer, Age 17"
Brian then thought back to the beginnings of his partnership with Allison. Nearly a decade earlier, he had been a young Leftenant in the 22 Regiment Special Air Service. Not bad for a half-bred Northern Ireland boy who bore a nickname his mates had given him. Back then, he was referred to as "The Belfast Bastard," a moniker that Brian wears to this day as a badge of pride, even when some others didn't share the sentiment. However, "The Belfast Bastard" who had recently gained his new rank barely had any time to enjoy its privileges or shoulder its responsibilities. Shortly after his promotion after a tour of duty in the much-maligned Balkans conflicts of the 1990's, Brian was sidelined from duty and eventually retired when an incident during fast rope training nearly paralyzed him. Months of slow rehabilitation washed him out of service with an honorable discharge, but his military career had essentially been over from that point on. A brief but profitable stint with a Private Security Company followed, and when that company folded, he found himself floundering in the Security bubble burst. It was around this time that Jean and Giuseppe Croce, whom he had worked with in a joint-operation in Bosnia, approached him with a rather unconventional job offer. Once he had heard what they had to say, the conversation went something like this:
"All right, so if I understand correctly, what you want me to do is be a partner for a multi-million Euro teenage cyborg girl and train her and go on black ops with her for the Italian Government?" asked Brian, summing up the two brothers' explanation. They were sitting in a London pub, talking over pints of Guinness.
"Well, when you put it that way, that's the gist of the job." replied Giuseppe sheepishly.
"I still have a hard time believing that's what you two have been doing all these years, you both gotta be taking the piss. Anyhow, I'm long since out of the regiment. What makes you think I'm qualified for this cloak-and-dagger Mickey?"
"If we could draw a 40-year-old about to go into his midlife crisis back into working these missions and still have him be sharp, then you shouldn't have any problem at your age, Brian." stated Jean matter of factly. "Besides, you're former SAS and you still carried those skills to the private sector. And you just got out of that, so we figured now was as good a time as any to talk to you. Besides, do you really think you've exercised your full potential so quickly?"
"Point taken, Jean." replied Brian as he took a pull from his pint of stout. "All right, suppose I do take this job. What's in it for me?"
"The pay is almost as good as what you'll find in the private sector. You'll also have access to the latest weapons and equipment, and you can choose to stay off-site somewhere in Rome or at the handlers' dorm. We have a full cafeteria and staff on-site, as well as a kill house, shooting range, obstacle course, and pool."
"That's not too bad." thought Brian. "So who am I going to be assigned to?"
Jean slid over a green binder for Brian to look through. As he started reading, Jean made further explanations.
"We have a full profile on her past identity. If there's anything you don't like or don't find suitable in there, we can have that corrected upon request. For instance, if you're not too sure about her driving-"
"Actually, I'll keep that for her." said Brian. "I'm not the kind of guy who takes away what someone knows. In fact, I can probably teach her what I know about combat driving."
Jean blinked, then continued. "I suppose that's reasonable, but wouldn't you prefer for her to be a field operator?"
"My skills aren't that fresh, Jean." stated Brian. It's been a good couple of years, shit changes when you've been gone that long. I think what I want to do is keep pace with her when getting back into the game."
"Suit yourself." said Jean. It was Giuseppe's turn to speak.
"So are you sold on it? Would you like to come see her?"
"In about a week. I need to seriously think about this."
When Brian saw Shelby for the first time, he was amazed. The Social Welfare Agency had done an amazing job repairing her injuries from her accident, and she was as beautiful as she was before, and stronger too, her skeleton having been enhanced with Carbon Fiber Reinforced Plastic and titanium. From what he saw, Brian was hard-pressed to believe that little more than a month ago, this girl had been broadsided along with her family by an intoxicated truck driver at the wheel of an Iveco Stralis doing seventy miles per hour through the intersection—one where he had the red light. A severed power line and leaking fuel had given Shelby Mercer 3rd-degree burns over 75 percent of her body less than a minute after her family's Ford Fiesta had been propelled into a telephone pole like a hockey puck. Yet there was no evidence this had ever happened, thanks to the mastery of the Social Welfare Agency's surgeons.
As he mulled his final decision over, he made peace with himself and accepted the responsibility his new job would entail.
"A couple things I want, Jean." said Brian.
"Shoot."
"I want her marksmanship to be excellent-"
"That's usually already standard."
"Fine, but I want to train her a little more, though an encyclopedic knowledge of firearms is appreciated. Second, I heard about the conditioning. I want her conditioning to be a little less than the bare minimum. I'm not a fan of brainwashing."
"She'll be more than a handful, Brian. And any side effects that pop up could be ugly."
"Leave that to me. I'm her new guardian, I should be the one to take care of her and help her along the way. Also, change her hair and eye color. I'd like her to be a blue-eyed brunette. And finally, give her a little extra armor, the kind that'll stop .30-ought-six."
"Is that all?"
"Yes."
"That's settled, then. Come back in a day or two, the doctors will be finished with the changes by that time."
Two days later, Brian returned to the Section 2 Compound to meet his cyborg as she awoke. In the monitoring room next to his cyborg's post-op bed, behind a one-way mirror, Brian was hammering down final details with Ferro, who was typing information into a computer terminal.
"So what will you name her?"
"...Allison. Allison McDonnell."
"You want her to share your surname?"
"The way I see it, everyone should have a family to call their own."
"As you say." replied Ferro, typing in the information into her PC. A quick sound alerted them to the fact that Allison was waking up.
"Better go greet her, Brian."
The Irishman stepped out of the observation room and opened the door to Allison's temporary bedroom. As he shut the door behind him, Allison slowly rose from under the covers, dressed in a thin hospital gown. She awoke like a true sedate teenager, yawning as she sat up, smacking her lips once or twice. Brian chuckled; at first glance, Allison really was just a normal teenage girl.
"Good morning, sleepyhead. You rest well?" asked Brian, approaching her bedside.
"Of course!" replied Allison cheerfully. Brian smiled at her, and she returned the smile.
"You mind telling me your name?"
"Allison. Allison McDonnell. And you are my handler, Brian McDonnell!" she stated happily. Brian hid the slight displeasure at the title of 'handler'. Allison was a person, not a trained animal.
"That's correct, Allison. But please, consider me a partner, and call me Brian. I'm not comfortable with being referred to as your 'handler'. You all right with that?"
"Sure, no problem, Brian!"
Brian smiled for the second time in five minutes. He never asked for her to be so sunny and cheerful, but she was very lightly conditioned, and the result was the exposure of her true personality. The smile faded from his face as he produced a metallic case, no bigger or wider than a sheet of printer paper. Setting it down at the foot of Allison's bed, he watched as she opened the case's latches. Opening the case itself, Allison found a M1911-style pistol with cocking serrations at the front and back of the slide and featured a small tactical rail integrated into the frame. The case included three 7-round magazines, two other guide rods, a threaded barrel, and a large box of .45 ACP ammunition. Lifting the pistol out of its case, Allison inspected it as she hefted the empty gun, pulling back the slide and checking for a round in-battery to verify if it was loaded or not.
"Do you know what this weapon is, Allison?" Brian asked.
"Of course. It's an American-made Kimber Custom TLE/RL II. You can tell by the cocking serrations, located at the front and rear, and the tactical rail they built into the frame. 5-inch barrel, flat-top slide with fixed Tritium night sights, and chambered for .45 Automatic Colt Pistol ammo. A standard modernized version of the Colt M1911A1, built for usage by Tactical Law-Enforcement teams like SWAT and Special Response Teams. " Allison answered, racking the slide and dry-firing the weapon in a safe direction. But pulling the trigger made her notice more about it.
"Wait a minute. This isn't a stock Custom II. The trigger pull feels lighter. It's match grade, but the normal pull is about 4-5 pounds. This one is 2.8 pounds."
She then flicked a small tab on the slide stop so that its protrusion was in line with the slide stop. This suddenly lit up a red dot where she aimed the weapon. "A LaserMax Internal Laser Sight? Wow! This thing's amazing! But won't this give away my position?" she asked Brian.
Trying to hide his astonishment at her spot-on analysis of her sidearm, he answered, "That's why there's two other guide rods. Section 2 had LaserMax create a separate IR laser sight, and the other guide rod is the stock guide rod on the Custom TLE. We figured this would leave you free to install a flashlight—if you were so inclined."
"Did you choose this for me?"
"Well, of course I did-"
"Thank you Brian, I'll treasure it forever!" chirped Allison with a smile.
"Uh... you're welcome, I guess." the Irishman replied, unsure how to feel. He then produced another object, this one a bundle of clothing. Allison unwrapped it to find an outfit consisting of a pleated skirt, thigh-high stockings, Nike sneakers, and a v-neck cashmere sweater.
"Get dressed." said Brian. "The weather's lovely outside, and I still have something else for you, but we have to go somewhere to get it. Meet me in the parking lot when you're done getting dressed, all right?"
With that, Brian exited the room, and Allison quickly started changing into her new outfit.
Brian looked up at the sound of a V10 engine's roar followed by the whining and whistling cacophony of a twincharged 4-cylinder engine. His window had a direct view of the new test track that was on the grounds of the Section 2 compound. He brought out his binoculars to observe, and he smiled as he saw Kara driving the recently-acquired Gallardo Spyder, generously lent to her by Allison, who was following close behind in her tuned-up Corolla GT-S, the 1985 liftback model known in Japan as the "Hachi-Roku," or Eight-Six due to its chassis code, AE86. Allison's AE86 was the same model as the Japan-market Toyota Sprinter Trueno. However, Allison herself had since yanked out the stock 4A-GEU engine and replaced it with a 1600cc Supercharged 4A-GZE engine from a Toyota MR2, and then added a turbocharger to create a powerful forced-induction engine with almost zero lag in boost. She also went on to modify other parts of the car; adding a racing seat for the driver, changing out the exhaust system, installing a boost controller, setting up a slight negative-camber angle of her tires and suspension for easy drifting while still being safe to drive on the streets, and mating the engine to a new transmission. Of course, Brian footed the bill for Allison's expensive hobby, luckily having saved the surplus cash from his work in the private sector. As he watched the two cyborg girls race around the test track, he sighed and wondered if it really was such a long time ago when he bought Allison the first car she could call her own.
Allison hurried out to the parking lot to find Brian leaning against the hood of a bright red Audi RS6 sedan, keys in hand as Allison approached.
"Here, catch." was all the warning Brian gave before tossing the keys to Allison, who caught them with a little surprise.
"Check your wallet. You have all you need."
Allison did just that, and inspected the contents of her wallet. She found her Italian Identity cards, both the electronic and paper versions, two United Kingdom National Identity Cards, one identifying her as "Mary Ainsworth", the other as "Allison McDonnell, Code B-marked UK driver's licenses with the same identities as her National Identity Cards, and most importantly, her Patente B driver's license, which was accepted in all EU member countries. The license itself was genuine, but off-record, Allison was chronologically 17 years old, about a year short of legal driving age for an automobile.
"Wait, you mean I'm driving?" she asked, looking up from her license.
"Exactly. Hop in, I'm bringing you to where I have another special something to give you."
Allison grinned and made a beeline for the driver's side door as Brian smiled and rode shotgun. The two buckled in, and Allison automatically adjusted the rearview mirror and side mirrors like a safe driver would do. Releasing the handbrake and placing the car into its Tiptronic clutchless manual transmission, she pulled the car out of its parking space and proceeded out of the parking lot.
"Allison, make sure to follow the SatNav directions. The final destination on its map is where we need to go."
"All right, I got it."
Once Allison turned onto the street, she increased throttle and the 5-Liter V10 FSI twin-turbocharged engine roared as she followed the satellite navigation map on the in-dash entertainment and info console with a pace that significantly elevated Brian's heart rate all the way to their destination. They arrived at an independent pre-owned car dealer just a few kilometers near the Rome city limits. Brian blinked several times as he got out of the passenger's seat, clearing his head of the dizzying sensation he got while Allison was driving.
"Are you all right, Brian?" Allison asked, fearful and concerned she'd hurt her handler.
"I'm fine, just give me a moment to get my bearings... one thing's for sure. The way you drive, we won't be wanting for speed. And that's a good thing, I'm all right now, and we can get on with what we came here to do."
"What are we doing here, anyway?" asked Allison.
"Taking a look at some cars. We'll need to pick one for missions. Take your time and pick one out that suits your skills and taste, because that will be your car. Try to pick something that's got hustle, agility, and preferably Italian."
So Allison perused the lot, which had a myriad number of vehicles in all shapes and sizes. She knew what to bypass, though, and she found herself amongst the higher-end sports cars and sport compacts. She walked amongst reborn classic hot hatches like the Golf GTI, and current ones, like the Honda Civic Type R. She gave Alfa Romeo GTVs and Fiat Coupés a once-over. She even considered a Nissan Skyline GT-R R34 before shaking her head and moving along. Then, she found the machine of her choice. It sat parked on a revolving pedestal, further glorifying her final choice. It was a 1994 Lancia Delta HF Integrale Evoluzione II, one of the greatest cars ever made in Italy that did not come with a six-figure price tag. With a 215 hp Garrett-turbocharged engine, all-wheel drive, the best engine management software offered by Lancia yet, and only 4223 of them sold, it was the greatest out of the Lancia Delta line before the second generation of Deltas lost their rallying pedigree with the introduction of the Nuova Delta, a front-wheel-drive hatchback based on a Fiat platform.
Allison strode up to the revolving platform and eyed the Evoluzione with a lustful gaze. In her eyes, at this very moment, it was the most perfect car in the world (perhaps presented as such thanks to the 'halo' of lights shining down on it). She had to have it now, despite never having driven it before, because she could tell it was special in its own unique way. Her eyes lingered on the slowly-turning Lancia a little longer before turning to face Brian, who had been watching with mirth along with the dealership's proprietor.
"I think I found what I want. Can we get this one?" Allison asked.
"I dunno, can we? Should we?" joked Brian, having a little fun at Allison's expense.
"YES! We should get this car! We have to get this car!" Allison argued, getting impatient. Brian just smiled.
"Then I was way ahead of you, and it looks like I called it right." said Brian. He produced a set of keys to the Lancia from his pocket and tossed them to Allison. As she caught them, she did a double-take between the keys and the Lancia on the revolving pedestal.
"You mean-"
"Yes, Allison. I bought it ahead of time hoping you would choose this. It was a gamble, but I'm naturally lucky."
Allison was speechless as she stared at the car keys in her hand. When her brain seemed to be able to function again, she had no idea what else to do except grin widely, stash the keys into her pocket, and thank her handler with a flying tackle of an energetic hug.
Brian finished the parking request and kicked back in his chair. Over time, one car became two. Then three. Now, it was four. He brought up his binoculars again, smiling as he saw Allison's grinning face as she pulled into the pit lane with Kara, who moved to the passenger's seat and belted in as Allison prepared to take the Gallardo out herself. As they peeled off onto the track again, Brian looked to his wall and saw the silhouette target Allison had shot up with her primary weapon and sidearm during their first target practice session. Holes had been blown neatly and clearly through the head and chest areas with both weapons in as short a time as she could muster.
At the SWA compound's indoor shooting range, Brian handed over to Allison an Israeli Weapons Industries Tavor CTAR-21 carbine. This was the shortened version of the Tavor TAR-21 bullpup assault rifle currently being fielded by the Israeli Defense Forces, and while they normally came with a pre-installed and zeroed ITL MARS reflex sight with integrated laser sight, this one had been modified with a series of 20mm Picatinny Rails for attachment of modular accessories. In particular, this one had an EOTech 556 Holographic Weapon Sight mounted atop the 20mm rail that sat between the backup iron sights.
On the counter in front of Allison were boxes of ammunition and magazines for her Tavor and her Kimber. She had loaded three magazines for each of her weapons, and once loaded, proceeded to place the remaining two spare magazines somewhere she could access them easily. Her Custom TLE/RL II now sat in a Milt Sparks Summer Special 2 inside-the-waistband holster, the spare pistol magazines in an adjacent magazine carrier. For her Tavor, the two spare 30-round magazines sat in a single belt-mounted dual mag pouch. Attached to these magazines were a section of parachute cord held in place as a loop on the bottom of the magazine by two pieces of gaffer tape. These crude attachments made it easier to remove the fresh magazines with speed from the pouch.
"All right, Allison. Empty three mags from each weapon as fast as you can into the target, and as accurately as possible. Are you ready?" asked Brian, holding a timer as he secured his hearing protection.
"Call it, Brian." replied Allison, shouldering the Tavor.
"Go!"
A buzzer sounded, signaling Allison to start shooting. Allison cranked off five six-round bursts at the target in roughly three seconds. She swapped magazines, letting the empty one fall to the floor, and with the new magazines properly seated, she pressed the bolt catch release switch, and this time completely leaned on the trigger. Her cybernetic enhancements compensated for the minuscule recoil and muzzle rise that the weapon generated, and while the holographic sight picture of the mounted EOTech HWS danced a little, her shots were dead-on, this time in the head area. Switching to her third magazine, she did another full-auto mag dump, this time in the target's center of mass. As soon as her Tavor was dry, Allison let the sling-equipped carbine hang free as she transitioned to her Kimber, releasing the safety as she drew it and began popping off double-taps at the target's center of mass. It took less than five seconds to switch weapons and empty the Wilson Combat seven-round magazine into the target, and as the slide locked to the rear, she ejected the empty magazine and whipped in the new one, releasing the slide to chamber the first round. She repeated this process until the last magazine went dry. She quickly checked to make sure the chamber was clear, then she released the slide, released the hammer, and then safed and holstered the pistol.
"Impressive work, Allison. 28.5 seconds total." noted Brian, showing her the stopwatch.
"Can we see the groupings?" asked Allison. Her partner nodded and pressed the 'retrieve' button for the target winch and the now-perforated target zipped back to the pair. Brian let out a low whistle as he got a closer look at the groupings on the target.
"Wow, this is fantastic! 2" groupings with all the ammo you used. Job well done, Allison. Couldn't have done that better myself!"
Allison grinned under the praise. However, for her to truly fall into her own, still much rigorous training was ahead.
As her Lancia began to slide its tail to the right at the last corner of the improvised Gymkhana course, Allison quickly countersteered right into the sweeping left-hander and feathered the throttle to keep the initiated drift going. As her right hand took care of the steering and her left foot kept the rear tires sliding by intermittently depressing and releasing the clutch pedal to keep the revs built up. This made her left hand free to aim her Kimber out the window and pop off a flurry of rounds at steel plate targets no larger than a regulation playing card. Out of seven targets, she hit six, and could do nothing about the one she missed, proceeding instead to the finish line of the course, where Brian was waiting with spare magazines and a stopwatch.
"Still almost two minutes, Allison. I want you to do the course again, and make sure you nail all the targets this time. You were very close, but you still need to get it right in one run. If you get it right once, I expect you to get it right a second, third, and fourth time, until that run and its dynamics are committed to your memory, understand?" said Brian, clearing the stopwatch and retrieving the spent magazines.
"Yes, sir. No mistakes." replied Allison, feeding a fresh magazine into her Kimber.
"Good girl. Drive to the starting line, I'll reset the targets."
Allison brought her car around to the start of the course while Brian pressed a button on a remote to prop the steel targets back up. Once Allison was ready, she built up her engine revs while Brian used a hand-signal countdown. As soon as he dropped his arm, Allison went for it, quickly shifting through the gears as she approached the first set of targets perched on the straightaway. Aiming her Kimber out the window, she started squeezing away, downing the targets in quick succession. Quickly, Allison took her right hand off the wheel for a lightning-fast reload and then quickly downshifted as she hit the brakes upon approaching a set of cones, coming to a stop. She then threw the car in reverse and swung the car around, reversing through a slight chicane. Still in reverse, Allison aimed her pistol out the window and fired at another seven targets, downing them as her car moved past. Another hard yank of the steering wheel to the left swung the Lancia front-first to the right as she straightened out, popped the clutch, shifted into first, and tromped down on the accelerator as she resumed normal forward motion, reloading her Kimber in between gearshifts. Up ahead was a cluster of targets positioned in a circle. As Allison approached them, she started the car drifting again, but this time held it so that she would drift around the targets in a donut pattern, downing the steel targets as her front end slid past. She continued to the last two parts of the course, a right-hand sweeping turn followed by a left-hander. As she drifted past the right-hander and downed the targets, she prepared herself for the last turn, which messed her up last time. She slid the car into another four-wheel drift, and after popping off six rounds in succession, she paused a beat, and then downed the seventh with the last cartridge of ammunition she had. She now had the timing correct, and a big grin was visible on her face as she drove towards a smiling Brian.
"Nice job. You think you can do that again?"
"Reset the targets, Brian. I'll show you that I can."
Once she was topped off on ammunition, she did the course flawlessly a second time. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth.
Brian's gaze shifted from the paper/cardboard target to a picture on his desk. It was a picture of himself, Allison, and his half-American cousin, Tommy, in front of Giants Stadium sometime after the New York Giants' October 31, 2005 win against the Washington Redskins. This was taken sometime after her first field trial once she completed basic training. As a Generation II cyborg, Allison was certainly capable of doing reconnaissance and intelligence-gathering missions. To test those basics, Brian had arranged for a trip to New York City rather than simply somewhere in Rome, where there was a higher chance of information leaks from the local police who may in turn be connected with the PRF. Knowing his cousin was involved with the investigation of gang-related crime, Brian thought the opportunity presented itself to put Allison's practiced skills—foreign languages, driving, disguise and camouflage (thanks in great part to Alessandro and Petrushka), and combat skills—to use against a defined enemy. Still though, this meant explaining Allison's presence to his cousin without giving away too much. In a matter of days, Brian hatched a cover story with Alessandro's help that was partially truthful, but would hopefully keep his cousin Tommy from asking too much.
Detective Thomas McDonnell of the NYPD's 46th Precinct was busy poring over notes for a potential sting operation inside his office. As an officer assigned to an Organized crime task force in the area nearest the Morris Heights section of the Bronx, he had been dealing with cases that often involved the Morris Heights set of a primarily Hispanic gang known as the Trinitarios. They were the fastest-growing gang in New York, with roughly up to 10,000 members. Thomas' own precinct had their hands full enough with the local set, and progress had been slow in shutting them down. That was to be expected in an area that was one of the poorest communities in America, where students went to school passing through metal detectors and swiping ID cards, where drug addiction was high, and most of the male residents have been arrested at some point in their lives.
A secretary opened the door to his office. "Detective McDonnell, you have a visitor to see you."
"Not now." said Tommy. "I'm busy here."
"What, I come all this way to visit my dear old cousin, and this is the reception I get?"
Tommy looked up from his notes and saw Brian leaning against the door jamb, giving him a wave. Tommy shook his head and shifted his papers aside for later as he came to give Brian a hug. Allison sat in the adjacent hallway, quickly assessing the detective currently greeting Brian as a non-threat.
"If it isn't my Limey-Mick cousin Brian." said Tommy coarsely but jovially. "How you been, man? I haven't seen you in the past couple of years. Sorry about aunt Claire." he added, his condolences referring to Brian's mother, who had passed away some time before Brian joined Section II.
"It was a tough loss, but all I could really do was move on, you know? I've managed to find some work again."
"Hey that's good, man! More of the same, I take it?"
"Sort of. I'm a consultant for some government agencies across the pond. Oh, and there's someone I'd like to introduce to you."
Brian waved Allison in, and she stood up and strode into the office.
"Tommy, this is Allison. As of a couple months ago, she's my adopted sister, and by extension, your new cousin."
"Nice to meet you, uh, Cousin Tommy." greeted Allison nervously. Tommy chuckled.
"Always full of surprises, ain't ya, Brian? Well, it's nice to meet you too, Allison. How old are you?"
"17."
"Oh man, I gotta get you a present for your next birthday, and Christmas, too!"
"Well if it helps, Tommy," offered Brian, "she's really into cars."
"She is?" asked Tommy. "That helps. What do you think of the NYPD's cruisers, Allison?"
"The Crown Vic has enjoyed its throne long enough. As I see it, the only way for it to stay on the throne against the new Dodge Charger is to stick a little extra oomph under the bonnet. Maybe a supercharger or some twin turbochargers will toss a little heat in its trousers. But then again, I don't think you guys would want the rookies drag racing in Time Square, now, would you?" said Allison with a smile.
Tommy laughed at what she said. "I like this kid already. So then Brian, what can I do for you while you're here in the states? I suppose you have business here other than stopping by to say hi and introduce me to your cute new gearhead little sister?"
"Actually, our business here is to help you out." said Brian. "Allison wants to join the S.A.S or maybe Delta Force when she's older, and she knows Recon and disguise are important skills. She's been taking lots of lessons in foreign languages, among other things, and she's even put in a lot of range time thanks to some people I know."
"What are you getting at, Brian?" asked Tommy, his expression now serious.
"I've heard about the Trinitarios problem here in the Bronx. Allison wants to test her skills out and infiltrate these sons-of-bitches and help the NYPD take down the Morris Heights set."
"You guys did your research." said Tommy. "Do forgive me, however, if I'm reluctant to send in a foreign national into harm's way. If something happens to her, Brian, this shit falls on me, and at that, she's my own cousin!"
"Perhaps you'll be less reluctant if you see what she's been learning. Can you get us a ride down to the Police Academy?"
"Go easy on these officers, Allison. They're just here to test your skills."
Allison was now inside a martial arts studio within the New York Police Academy surrounded by three police officers acting as aggressors in a self-defense scenario. One was equipped with a rubber knife, another with a telescoping baton, and a third with a gas-blowback Airsoft pistol.
"Well, whenever you're ready, guys." Allison said to the her opponents. No sooner had the words left her mouth than the attackers descended upon her immediately. Allison prioritized her threats, first going after the one with the pistol. Swatting the pistol's muzzle aside, Allison seized hold of the pistol's slide as she delivered a mean backhand into her present opponent's face, the impact causing him to withdraw his hands to the affected area. The pistol now in her left hand, Allison swept out her opponent's feet from under him, dropping him to the floor before she dropped her foot into his solar plexus, the training officer doubling over as the wind was knocked out of him. She aimed the loaded Airsoft pistol at the other two opponents, causing them to back off a little. Deciding against shooting them, she ejected the magazine and field-stripped the weapon in one smooth motion and tossed the slide and frame of the pistol to the side as she rushed them. She quickly disarmed the one with the rubber knife, then seized him from behind as she quickly made a mock slash across his throat and two stabs into his chest. Finally, faced with just someone armed with a telescoping baton, she ducked under an overhand swing, seized the baton from the officer, and quickly struck the back of his knees, bringing him to the floor before delivering a painful blow to the back of his head. And that was that. Three officers down, in the span of thirty seconds. Brian clapped in appreciation while his cousin Tommy stood amazed at the superhuman performance he had just seen.
"So, you wanna reconsider using her for this op?" asked Brian.
"Damn, Brian. I was wrong about worrying about her. I think I'd be more worried about those poor bastards in Morris Heights if they ever cross her."
Allison helped up the three lightly injured officers and apologized to them while they nodded in acceptance of the apology. As the officers walked away, Allison approached Brian and Tommy.
"How'd I do?"
"That was a performance beyond words, Allison. It'll require some finesse on my part, but I think you're ready for a little infiltration. Makeup can take care of your skin tone. How's your Spanish?"
"Suficientemente fluida para haber nacido hablarlo." replied Allison cleverly in a perfect quick-fire Hispanic dialect as opposed to the Castillian dialect of Spain taught in most American high schools.
Brian smiled, as did Tommy. "In other words, top-notch." said Tommy. "Let's go back to the station, I have to present the captain with this plan."