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. Jay Valentine is the property of Jacen Starslayer. Elio and Marisa Alboreto are the property of Professor Voodoo. Adeline Melita is the property of Symbiotic. Laine Stanaway is the property of Rusty-Spring on Cyborg Central's Gunslinger Girl forums.
Chapter 4: The Usual Suspects
The early morning breeze blew in through the open window of Allison's dorm room as the brunette stirred under the covers. She arose with a yawn, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes lightly. Today, the light snore of her roommate was notably absent, indicating that Petrushka probably spent the night with Alessandro...again. Luckily, this meant not disturbing anyone in her immediate vicinity as she gathered her clothes to go shower, carefully walking down the hall to the common bathroom as others slept.
After her shower, Allison went back to her room to continue dressing, and arranged her drying hair into a semi-bun/ponytail with the use of a hair claw clip. Her Casio G-shock watch was secured onto her wrist, and she had put on her favorite Lancia-Martini v-neck t-shirt, matched with 3/4 length denim jeans and Puma cross-trainers. Once dressed, she grabbed her 1985 Ferrari Red Gibson Les Paul Custom and its accompanying amplifier as she exited her dorm room once again and made her way to the compound roof.
Ascending the stairs and exiting into the outside world through the rooftop access, she was greeted by the sight of the rising sun peeking up over the horizon. It was going to be another beautiful day in Italy, but she felt she needed to play something to truly kick things off properly. Plugging her amplifier and connecting her guitar, she turned the volume up to "11" and pointed the amplifier northwards, absentmindedly playing with the fantasy that Padania's movement could be halted by the power of rock, if not bullets. Positioning her medium-thickness guitar pick betwixt thumb and forefinger, she raised her arm high in the air before bringing it past the six strings.
The morning calm was pierced by the full volume of "Scotland the Brave" and its boisterous, lively notes made rougher by the overdrive function of the amplifier. Birds were scared out of their trees, the odd car alarm or two went off, and inside the girls' dorm, Kara was startled out of her bed and onto the floor while her roommate Gattonero bolted out of bed and knocked her head into the ceiling, eliciting a string of expletives from the short-haired young woman. Grumpily, Kara was coming to terms with what happened. Only Allison could possibly be up on the roof playing the unofficial Scottish National Anthem this early in the morning.
"Why can't she let the rest of us sleep?" complained Kara, yelling with frustration into her pillow.
"Don't ask me." said Gattonero, rubbing her head. "She said she's aiming that amp north towards the Padanians."
"Well, she's hitting us with some very unpleasant friendly fire." groused Kara.
As Allison continued to play, she was made aware of a buzzing sound coming in from behind her shortly before a Radio-controlled scale model Supermarine Spitfire zoomed past above her head. She watched it waggle its wings as it flew away from her, and she turned to face the direction of the boys' dorm where she saw a young boy standing on the rooftop with a radio transmitter in hand. Allison waved to the young pilot, a boy by the name of Scott, whose origins, coincidentally, were in Scotland. Allison continued to play for several minutes more, and soon, Scott joined in across the compound with a set of bagpipes that his handler, Chelsea, had purchased for him. The two performed the song in unison before retreating back inside the compound buildings.
With Allison and Scott's musical escapade over, the Social Welfare Agency compound was now getting well into gear as more of the cyborgs and staff milled about, setting off to do what needed to be done today. For Allison, this meant no missions, so it was off to literature class, taught by Mr. Hilshire. They were finishing up her least-favorite book thus far, which was Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert. Literature class was often a bore for Allison, and the only real bright spot about it is that it was the first thing that had to be done with in the morning, making way for progressively better (read: more fun) classes throughout the rest of the day.
Now, as she dreaded stepping foot in the classroom for the next god-awful hour, her reluctance was tempered by the paper sign on the door. Hilshire and Triela were on a mission callout, and today there would be a substitute in the form of Alessandro. Allison's face was split by a wide grin; Every time Petrushka's handler was the substitute, the class was turned into a study hall, meaning no chewing-out from Mr. Hilshire, and that she could finish whatever godforsaken assignment that had been assigned to her class. She walked in and saw that a number of her fellow cyborgs were already in their seats, chatting amicably. She took up her spot between Kara and Jay Valentine, a male cyborg brought into Section 2 by Priscilla through an absurd series of events. As Allison plopped into her seat, Kara yawned sleepily while Jay tinkered away with a circuit board that he had laid in front of him.
"'Morning, guys!" the brunette greeted.
"Oh! H-hey, Allison." greeted Jay with a startled expression shortly before returning to his work.
"Ohayo, Allison." greeted Kara, unsuccessfully stifling another yawn. "Could you be less frequent with the rock n' roll wake-ups? Ilaria smacked her head into the ceiling, and I fell out of bed as soon as you started playing. I think if you want your psyop to be more effective, you should assist on a publicized siege rather than hope your notes reach the Padania in the north. Some of us need our sleep, and well, you're doing a great job wearing us down."
"Whoops." replied Allison, scratching the back of her head. "Sorry, Kara. I meant no harm."
"It's fine, I'll just catch a few more winks while in class."
"Would you like some tea instead? I got this from the cafeteria." said Allison, passing her friend an insulated and covered cup of tea. "Try it. It's lemon ginger today."
Kara let the aroma waft to her nose, eliciting a twitch of the corner of her lips. "Smells nice."
"It tastes pretty good, too. Have a sip."
Kara put her mouth to the small opening in the cover and took a light pull from the cup, letting the flavor dance on her taste buds. She winced a little at the temperature, but as it cooled, she could taste its citrus-like tang.
"You're right, that is pretty good."
Allison smiled as Petrushka and Alessandro came into the room. The redhead cyborg gave Sandro a quick peck on the cheek before dashing off to her seat in the classroom as Alessandro took the dry erase marker and wrote "Self Study" on the whiteboard in front of the classroom before taking a seat behind the teacher's desk and working away on his mission reports. In her own seat, Allison cracked open her notebook and her paperback copy of Madame Bovary and steeled herself for the task of finishing what was left of the dreadful text.
"Well, that was a disappointing end." Allison quipped as she finished her notes and the book a few minutes later. The sheer anticlimax that comprised the end of the overly-detailed work bored her to tears, but now free of that particular torture, she moved over to her other notebook full of design ideas for project cars. Her twincharged AE86 Toyota Corolla GT-S, christened "Megumi," was one of the projects that she had initially sketched out in this book, as was her turbocharged Mazdaspeed MX-5, "Shirley." Her Lancia Delta, however, was not in the book because it was a predecessor and she could not think of a name for it, as it was a gift from Brian, and it was not a complete project; something was always being done to it to make it stronger, faster, and more agile. This also reminded her that she had to think of a new name for the Lamborghini Gallardo she had recently acquired. Then, she decided that until she had indeed tuned the Gallardo to her liking, she would not come up with a name for it Then she shook her head. Why even bother tuning one? 513 horsepower was probably enough. In one of her regular meetings with Michele when Kara was with her at the Section 2 test track, she had concurred with the more experienced man and former Scuderia Ferrari engineer that generally, exotic car manufacturers knew what they were doing with their creations, and unless it was going to be a full-time race car, vehicles like the Lamborghini Murciélago and Gallardo were typically not designed to be fiddled about with by tuners because the engine and the other components of the vehicle were already at the height of their technological advancement and brought into balance. Tuning even one component can easily change the dynamics of a vehicle, and Allison was already aware of this fact.
However, the possibility of a super-tuned Lamborghini Gallardo was not lost on her. In a fit of genius and/or insanity, she read, an American by the name of Jason Heffner had given a Lamborghini Gallardo a twin-turbocharger setup that propelled the already well-balanced vehicle close to 1000 horsepower, if not more. A considerable ambition, but it was not necessarily something she wanted to try until she had experienced a normal Lamborghini Gallardo in earnest.
Therefore, Allison turned her attention to another page in her notebook. This particular concept entailed a modified 1969 Fiat 124 Spyder equipped with a fuel-injected 4-cylinder engine that would give the car triple-digit horsepower enabling it to cruise at highway speeds but also retain its ability to handle the winding roads throughout Italy. Her current trouble was deciding what kind of engine to use. Something from Alfa Romeo? Maybe a newer Fiat engine? Perhaps a 4A-GEU powerplant from a Toyota Corolla? Or maybe even Honda's eponymous VTEC? As she jotted down the possibilities, she presented them to Kara, whose opinion she trusted as a fellow driver.
"Hey Kara, what do you think of this idea?" asked Allison, sliding her notebook under her friend's nose. Sitting up, Kara looked at the various notes and sketches of the concept that Allison had come up with.
"Interesting. The formula is very quintessential British sports car: lightweight body, open top, decent engine. It looks like you're trying to make an MX-5, but stripped away of all the safety features and just making it a pure road machine. I like the idea. The engines, though, are a different story altogether. I can see the current crop of Fiat and Alfa engines making it into this, maybe even an Alfa 147 block breathed on by Autodelta. It's these last two I have to put under a little more scrutiny. A Corolla engine—fine, it's at least 150bhp, which is respectable, and I can see the reliability factor working itself into this, and if nothing else, it's taking a good engine from the most boring car in the world and making it motivate something fun. But this last one, I have to raise an objection to. A Honda VTEC engine in a Fiat? That's just utter blasphemy, and I find my sensibilities offended by the mere suggestion of such an unholy matrimony."
Allison was taken aback. "What? Why not? Parts are easy to get, it's got hell-and-back reliability, it's economic yet high-performance, and it's got a nice amount of power-"
"-And it's the darling of chavs in tarted-up Civics with fart can noisemaker exhausts everywhere. Knowing that, Allison, don't you feel any revulsion at the sheer vulgarity of such an engine being used to power a car that's... well frankly, more refined?" argued Kara.
"Well Kara, you have to know that I'm placing function over form here. I've heard too often from other people that Fiat is just an acronym for 'Fix It Again, Tony.' That said, the VTEC powerplant is reliable. Not a single system has had a serious breakdown in the years since the first VTEC was churned out of the factories in Japan. In fact, I daresay it's exactly why it's the darling of Civic-driving rice boys the world over."
"I'm still not convinced." said Kara. "The only VTEC I can truly appreciate is maybe the one found in the Honda NSX."
"Now that's not fair, Kara." replied Allison. "That's a V6, and my design can only fit an I4. Look, if I build it, will you change your mind once you've driven it?"
"Maybe." replied Kara. "Until then, I stand by my opinion that with the exception of the NSX, the VTEC powerplant is a vulgar piece of machinery that doesn't belong anywhere near anything designed to be high-performance."
Allison sighed to herself and flipped to another page. This time, this was a conceptualized resto-mod of a 1964 Chevrolet Corvair Monza Turbo. She had read the lore of Chevrolet's attempt to compete with Porsche by making a rear engined, rear-wheel drive sports car that had an air-cooled and turbocharged flat-6 power source—several years before Porsche could ever come up with the equivalent 911 Turbo. Unfortunately, the Corvair's design was so inherently poor (at least to novice drivers), its handling so horrendous, and its reputation as a widowmaker so great, that the independent party U.S. politician Ralph Nader had declared it "unsafe at any speed," and its production was dropped by the mid-1970's. What Allison had in mind for this was to modify a Corvair in such a way that its handling and safety would be drastically improved and its engine, drastically more efficient at delivering power to the wheels. To this end, she would have to add additional oil coolers, create more vents directing airflow to the hot-running air-cooled engine, install proper four-wheel disc brakes (cross-drilled rotors by Brembo, perhaps?), and change out the horrendous recirculating ball system for honest-to-goodness rack-and-pinion steering. From there, the sky was the limit. Allison was dreaming big, perhaps a 6-cylinder boxer engine from a Subaru Legacy, utterly brought up to eleven by a Variable-geometry twin-turbo setup and a custom-made aerodynamics makeover that would allow her to trounce unsuspecting Porsche drivers, or, perhaps a different route would be taken, exchanging two cylinders for another 4A-GZE twincharged setup for potentially less weight.
Before Allison could jot her ideas completely in her notebook, class had ended, and they were all dismissed for their next class. Allison loved this one; the next class was driving school with Ms. Olga, and Allison was a teacher's aide in the class, possessing the most driving skill out of any of the cyborgs because of her retained experience in racing through most of her previous life as Shelby Mercer (not that she remembers those days).
Driving down a two-lane road in an Alfa Romeo 155, Allison had a challenge thrown at her when two cars suddenly came together from opposite sides of the road, blocking her path. With lightning-fast reaction, she braked hard, the discs biting to stop the wheels from any more forward motion as she clutched in and slammed the gear lever into reverse as the car almost completely stopped. Allison then tromped down on the gas pedal, spinning the front tires for a second or two before she began to rocket backwards for a few seconds before throwing the steering wheel towards the left, slewing the nose right 180 degrees as Allison clutched in again while correcting the steering wheel. The gear lever was thrown into first and Allison floored the throttle to escape the sudden ambush, ramming the Alfa through another pair of ambush vehicles attempting to block her exit. She simply ducked her head down and floored it, the speed of her impact shoving the blocking vehicles aside. Once through the barricade, Allison backed off the throttle and downshifted into neutral as the 155 rolled to a stop in front of the rest of the class that had watched the scene transpire. Olga was there to explain.
"And that, boys and girls, is a J-turn. It's a fast way to go the other direction in the event of an ambush. You will of course, notice that Allison kept up her speed through the rear roadblock. Can anyone tell me why?"
"Because sufficient velocity is necessary to clear an obstacle using your own vehicle." answered Gattonero.
"That is correct, Gattonero." confirmed Olga, followed by an explanation. "At the speed Allison was driving, she had no time to accelerate when the front roadblock crossed her path and blocked her. But with the J-turn, she had sufficient acceleration space and considerably more escape speed than she would have had by simply going in reverse. There is only a single, rather low speed for reverse gear. By the time you reach that other roadblock just going in reverse, you won't have enough speed to knock those cars out of the way, and you'll get turned into swiss cheese by the time you get there. Now then, you're all going to try this after a ride-along demonstration by Allison herself. Who wants to go first?"
With Olga expecting someone to raise their hand, Jay was instead "voluntold" by one of his fellow male cyborgs, a British-born Palestinian whom everyone knew as 'Ike'. Jay found himself shoved front and center as Ike yelled, "He'll do it!"
Before Jay could protest, Olga thumbed towards the 155 where Allison was waiting, and he strapped into the passenger's seat with trepidation. As if to assuage his fears, Allison flashed the boy a smile, and Jay felt slightly more at ease, but not by much. Allison then went into a stationary demonstration of what was going to happen.
"What goes into a J-turn isn't terribly complicated." said Allison, grabbing hold of the wheel, the gear lever, and placing her feet on the pedals. "From a stopped position, clutch in, select reverse, clutch out, accelerate backwards, gain some speed. Then, when the timing is right, foot immediately off the gas, clutch in while you quickly steer left to bring the nose around right. While spinning, straighten out, clutch in, shift into first, let the clutch go, and accelerate. Easy enough to follow, I hope?"
"You'd have to show it to me in action. I don't think I follow." replied Jay sheepishly.
"Buckle up, then." said Allison, starting the engine. Moving the car some ways from the rest of the group, Allison came to a stop.
"You ready?"
"I think so-"
Allison gave Jay no time to finish as she threw the 155 into reverse and mashed the accelerator, smoking the front tires temporarily before the 4-door saloon reversed rapidly. At around 30mph or so, Allison jerked the steering wheel hard to the left, and the front tires slewed around as she let off the gas. As she steered right to straighten out, her left foot sunk the clutch pedal in and her right hand brought the gear lever from the reverse slot into first. Allison then released the clutch and floored the gas pedal, shooting the car forward. After a few seconds, Allison applied the brakes and then turned to Jay again.
"Now, do you understand? You have to do this by yourself, you know."
"That was incredible! How could I possibly do that without messing up?" breathed Jay.
"Same way you get to Carnegie Hall—practice." replied Allison with a smile.
After Allison repeated the demonstration with the others, she let them loose into the practice lot of the Section II test track, watching multiple Alfa 155's slew about in J-turn attempts ranging from mildly successful to well-intentioned efforts. Standing next to Olga, she commented about the way the others were learning.
"155's are great little machines, but I think if we had the best funding, we'd be practicing on more powerful cars." said Allison.
"Come now, would you really let this lot learn on a pack of Ferraris?" asked Olga.
"Well, it worked for Kara... and it's not like I'm asking for supercars, just quick vehicles with excellent brakes."
"Might want to take that up with Q-branch, then." Olga suggested.
"I fear they might go overboard...and that I might be part of that." said Allison sheepishly.
The so-called 'Q-branch' was the Social Welfare Agency's Research and Development wing for any and all mission equipment. Essentially a comprehensive work shop, the cyborgs in Section II took Engineering and Technical Education classes here. Their teachers consisted of a colorful band of technicians who were experts in various fields—and more than a few were aspiring mad scientists. Q-branch's facilities were able to repair, service, and modify just about anything and everything under the sun that had moving parts—aircraft, small arms, cars, watercraft, SCUBA gear, etc.—in addition to other mission-essential items and electronics. In the Engineering and Technical Education classes, Cyborgs would learn labor skills such as gunsmithing, auto repair, and technical design. Filled with various special equipment, including a wind tunnel, the cyborgs who attended these classes learned how their designs fared under various conditions before they could even consider building life-sized versions of their projects.
However, outside of class instruction, the men and women of Q-branch tended to go a little bonkers with their more ambitious projects. Case in point, when his cyborg Marisa had smashed its hood in during a panic attack, Elio Alboreto's BMW M3 had been abducted by the brains at Q-branch and made considerably lighter and faster as various body parts were replaced with Carbon Fiber Reinforced Plastic parts. Originally, only the hood was supposed to be replaced, but in the ambition to 'make it better', more and more parts were replaced to the point where handling characteristics became severely affected by the weight reduction.
Technical Education and Engineering was Allison's favorite class to the point where she soon became an honorary member of Q-branch. She herself has contributed to their lunacy, and her time with them has caused Brian more irritation in the form of an apparent tendency to overuse caffeine during the occasional all-nighter while wrenching away on her Lancia. It was a sleepless night that led to Allison installing 007-style X-net launchers in her Lancia to thwart any pursuers.
After more spinouts, gear -grinding, stalling, and obscenities from a number of the students, the driving school class had ended and the Alfas were parked in a neat row. Allison proceeded to the gymnasium for Physical education class with Ms. Ferro, of all people. Unlike most schools, there was not real "uniform" per se; rather, each sport they moved onto in the curriculum had the appropriate gear and attire. Since their current unit was Tennis, Allison had a Nike Women's Summer Break Point tennis dress in Aster Pink with a multicolored left tank strap and pleat panel hanging in her gym locker. An accompanying pair of tennis shoes was also present on the shelf in her locker, and she changed into both items, placing her street clothes neatly into the locker. Passing by Ms. Ferro on her way out, the instructor checked off Allison's attendance as the brunette grabbed a titanium racquet with strings woven from Kevlar and nylon.
"All right, everyone. Partner off and start playing. Halfway through the class, your pair should group up with another to play doubles." announced Ferro. "Start playing!"
Allison paired up with Laine Stanaway, who like herself, was of British origin. Laine was also the best tennis player in the whole of the Social Welfare Agency, capable of serves and volleys that clocked in at an average of 170 miles per hour. For practices, this was scaled down by 30 miles per hour, but it was plenty enough to keep the cyborgs competitive.
"You serve." said Allison, bouncing the ball to her practice partner.
"You sure you wanna do that?" asked Laine.
"Yes. Hit me with your best shot-"
Allison blinked, and the ball she was supposed to return with a swing instead embedded itself in the chain-link fence behind her.
"Again."
This time, when Laine sent the ball her way, Allison was ready and returned the serve, which Laine expertly sent back to her. Soon enough, Laine started working Allison over to make the brunette petrolhead grunt with the effort of her swings as she started to have difficulty keeping up with Laine's expertise.
Over in the boy's court, Ike was playing against Scott, but the former was looking wistfully in the direction of the girls' court, where the noise was catching his interest. So engrossed was he, that when Scott served the ball, Ike was beaned in the side of the head.
"Oi, Ike! Pay some bleedin' attention, will ya?"
"Sorry, mate. The sexy grunting from the girls' courts was distracting me..."
After playing against Kara and Laine during the second half of the class, Allison was showered again and on her way to her next classes—Technical Education and Engineering, both held at the SWA "Q-branch." back to back, the first class was more vocation-oriented, whereas Engineering had a more project-based curriculum. In Technical Education, Allison's class was currently undergoing a unit on gunsmithing, which while tedious, Allison found worthwhile. Today's lesson was 'porting' the barrels on certain types of firearms, such as pistols and shotguns. Using a Browning Hi-Power as her project gun, Allison was being taught how to cut holes in the slide and barrel of the pistol to vent escaping gases upward and help minimize muzzle rise.
Since the slide had already been cut as needed, Allison now had to work on the more difficult job of drilling minuscule holes in the barrel itself without affecting the rifling. Thankfully, Q-branch had a lot of handy equipment, and with the help of a drill press, an x-ray machine, and another camera, she rotated the Hi-Power's barrel as she drilled tiny, almost pin-like openings in the barrel, the x-ray machine allowing her to see if the drill was passing through and the camera showing her if she was anywhere near the all-important rifling of the barrel. The trick was to vent the expanding gases from in-between the rifling grooves in order to keep bullet flight stable while reducing muzzle climb and recoil.
As she finished drilling, Allison removed the drill bit from the barrel and took the pistol barrel off of the vise grip holding it in place. Covering the muzzle end of the barrel with her index finger and looking through the breech end, she could see pinpricks of light coming in from where she had drilled. Smiling, she started applying a spray of compressed air to blow out any shavings from the drilling. Satisfied with her work, she also polished the barrel inside and out to a brilliant luster before turning it over to her instructor.
"Looks all right, Allison." said Professor Enzo Cipriani. "But does it shoot?"
"Find out for yourself, I suppose." replied Allison with a shrug.
"I'll take it down to the range later, but you get an 'A' for completing the assignment. Good job."
Allison beamed under the praise before cleaning up her work station, heading to the garage area of the workshop, where they had been working on a Formula SAE racer. Not much larger in stature compared to a Go-kart, the Formula SAE racer was an open-wheeled vehicle powered by a 4-cylinder motorcycle engine that was promptly limited in horsepower by an air restrictor in front of the intake. This brought design, handling, and weight savings to the forefront of their priorities rather than raw horsepower. They had already chosen an aluminum space frame chassis as the base. It was equipped with a wishbone suspension system up front with inboard coil springs mated to Bilstein dampers, and a rear suspension comprised of lower wishbones, single top links, twin radius arms, and another set of inboard Bilstein coil spring/dampers. The engine they had was sourced from a Suzuki Hayabusa sport bike with an IHI RB25 Turbocharger attached, but there was a mandatory air restrictor with an opening the size of an American nickel coin so that it would not necessarily develop maximum horsepower. For this session, Allison took to bolting on the brakes, sourced by AP Racing. These were slotted and cross-drilled rotors originally designed for street cars, but they would find a use on this ambitious open-wheel racer. Since weight was light and speed didn't reach 100 miles per hour, street-application performance brakes would do the job, and they did not have to be fancy carbon-ceramic brakes, as would normally be seen on certain supercars.
Allison took one of the rotors and slid them onto their mountings on the axle. Securing it into place on the central hub of the axle, Allison then started bolting on the brake caliper, emblazoned with the AP Racing logo's yellow letters on black background. She repeated this process until all four brakes were installed on their axles. At this point, she was about to bleed the brakes when she realized she would need someone else's help.
"Annette! Could I get some assistance over here, please?"
The African-American girl walked over to Allison, having just saved her work on the soon-to-be-produced Carbon Fiber shell for the racer. "What's up, Allie?" she asked.
"Could you get inside the driver's seat? I need someone to pump the brakes so that I can get rid of the air in the lines."
"Will do."
Annette Golan hoisted herself over the frame and slipped into the driver's seat, extending her leg towards the center pedal. Annette followed Allison's instructions to pump the brakes as she needed and spent roughly the next quarter-hour removing the air from each individual brake line. By the time they finished, class was over, and it was the last class of the day. The cyborgs would have use of the training facilities as they wished—with supervision, of course—for the rest of the day. Right now, however, it was time for lunch, and Allison did not miss a beat in making haste to the cafeteria. As she neared it, the unmistakably aromatic scent of barbecue and grilling meat wafted through the air, pleasing and teasing the nostrils of whoever smelled its delightful, delicious, mouth-watering fragrance. The kitchen staff practically never did this, so only one person she knew of could possibly pull this off.
"Becky, your cooking smells delicious, as usual." complimented Allison to the cook of the lunch hour. Becky Schmidt was a fairly recent addition to the cyborg team, but her handler/adoptive mother schooled the Canadian, who like her handler, was a cowgirl at heart, allowing for a common bond that quickly solidified their relationship as a sorella. One of the finer points that was taught to Becky was cooking on a grill, and those skills paid off as people went into the cafeteria anticipating the young girl's cooking.
"Thanks, Allie!" replied the blonde cowgirl working the lunch line, her signature stetson hat adorning her head in place of a chef's hat. Her personalized barbecue apron, stretched at the top due to her considerable bust read, "I hope you appreciate the meal; do you know how f**king hard it is to kill a steer with your bare hands?"
"What's on today's menu?"
"We have a cookout theme going today." replied Becky. "Shish kebabs, barbecue chicken, T-bone steaks, pork chops, corn-on-the-cob, pigs-in-a-blanket, Mashed potatoes, rice, gravy, and so on. Take your pick and eat your fill, come back for seconds, if you like, but be sure to leave room for dessert!"
"What's for dessert?"
"Lots of things: Watermelon, Cantaloupe, Peach and/or Cherry Cobbler, maybe some ice cream, and a fresh batch of fudge brownies."
"Can't wait, Becky. Looking forward to it." replied Allison.
"My pleasure." replied Becky. "Y'all enjoy your meal now, 'hear?"
Allison took her loaded tray to a nearby table where a Caucasian American teenager was sitting, appearing to be scribbling down notes on a piece of paper, not having really touched his food.
"Hey, Matthew! How's it going?" asked Allison of the boy, who brought his head up with a smile.
"Allie! Hay guuuuurl, wass crackin'?" replied Matthew in his unique inner city form of English, exchanging a fist pound with the brunette.
"Not much, just finished shop class, you?"
"Just got done science with Mr. Pagani. Yo, he a real chill dude, knowwhati'msayin'?"
"Yeah, I think I get what you mean." replied Allison as she dug into her steak. "Whatcha' writing?"
"Oh this?" Matthew asked, gesturing to the piece of paper. "I'm writin' down some rhymes, y'know, kickin' out some fresh lyrics and shit. It ain't done yet, tho'."
"Well, you mind if I hear what you've got so far?"
"A'ight, but don't expect anything really good, word?"
"Word. Let's hear it."
Matthew cleared his throat and used his knuckle to rap out a usable beat on the table before he began his rap.
Yo, it's Matty D again, and I'm on the attack,
DJ E and Drummer Ike backin' me up on da track!
It's time for a new lesson, break you off somethin' new,
A story about Padania, the enemy—and you.
I'm talkin' P.R.F.-the first subject of this rhyme,
Those busters started shit way before my time.
Couldn't appreciate Italy, and none of them do,
so they said "Fuck the Police!" and blew them up too.
So just what'll stop these punks runnin' round?
If they keep actin' up, shit'll burn to the ground!
That's my cue to come in-
(Yo, whatchu sayin, Matty D?)
I'm an assassin, motherfucker!
That's right, you heard me!
The Padanians all think they hardcore cats,
But they don't got skill like me when I bust out the gat.
I got two MAC-10's, a golden-plated 'K,
Twin nines, and a Deagle, ni**a; Yippee-Ki-Yay!
Abruptly, Matthew appeared to have finished his rap, leaving Allison hanging.
"That's it?"
"I told you, girl, that's all I got right now. But whatchu think so far?"
Allison pondered the rhyme for a moment. Then, "It's... a start. That's all I can say. And It'd probably be better for you to avoid using the n-word. You are white, after all."
"My bad, dawg." replied Matthew, scratching his head. "I was raisin' myself on the streets, and well... force of habit, y'know?"
"I understand, but find a substitute." said Allison. "Other than that, keep fleshing it out. You eat yet? That might help a bit."
"Exactly what I was thinking." said Becky, coming over to the table. "Something the matter with the food, Matt?"
"Uh—naw, Becky! I was just writin' some new rhymes, nothing's wrong with your food, Becky, I swear! You make the best eats I ever had, girl!" stammered Matthew, his face taking on a nervous countenance.
"I'll believe that when y'all come up with a freestyle rap singing the praises of every single dish I've cooked." said Becky with a smile. "Just kiddin', but please do eat."
As Becky walked away, her bust bouncing slightly in her apron with each step, Allison shot a smirk at Matthew, drawing more nervousness out of the boy.
"Allie, why you eyein' me up like that?"
"You like Becky, don't you?" Allison whispered.
"Say what? Wh-whatchu talkin' bout, Allie? You crazy, perpetuatin' that kinda noise. I just think Becky be real cool, dig?"
"Riiight." replied Allison. "Well don't worry, 'Matty D'. I won't tell a soul."
"I sure hope not." said Matthew, taking another glance at Becky, this time at her figure. "But daaaaaaaamn, she fine."
"Just don't make a fool out of yourself and stare at her chest when you finally work up the nerve to actually talk to her one-on-one. I know they're huge, but that's not where a lady's face is."
After lunch, the cyborgs of Section 2 had their own free time to do homework or practice their skills. Since Allison had little way of homework, and her skill was driving, a trip to the test track was in order. After passing through the corridors of the Social Welfare Agency to get her driving shoes from her dorm room, she popped by the range to find Professor Cipriani testing the Browning she had been smithing in shop class. Allison waved to him out of the corner of his eye, and he stopped shooting to wave her in, foregoing the requirement of her handler needing to be present for entry.
"It's shooting very well, Allison." commented Enzo as he ejected the magazine and manually ejected the chambered cartridge. "It hasn't blown up in my face, and it's more accurate, with a noticeable lack of recoil."
"Do I pass?" asked Allison with hope.
"Oh, absolutely. But whether or not it's the best gun made in your class remains to be seen." replied the professor. "Now run along."
Allison continued on her way to the parking lot, passing the padded gym on the way. She stopped for a peek and found Henrietta sparring with Johanneke, a recent addition to the group whose specialty was close combat. The Afrikaner motivated the younger cyborg by encouraging her as she landed blows on the practice pads Johanneke was holding up for her.
"C'mon 'Etta, keep up your rhythm, that's it!" shouted Johanneke, Henrietta throwing out jabs whose pop-pop noises echoed in the gym as she exhaled with each attack. The two were constantly moving, keeping their heart rates up as they engaged in the aerobic exercise and Allison waved to them, and both waved back before they continued their spar and Allison went on her merry way.
Soon, Allison made her way to the parking lot and unlocked the doors to her beloved Delta. Slipping into one of two Recaro bucket seats comprising the driver and front passenger's seats, she secured her seatbelt across her body as she inserted the key into the ignition and gave it a twist, the turbocharged 4-cylinder engine up front coming to life with a vivacious whine. Releasing the handbrake, Allison shifted into first and gave the engine some throttle as she went off in the direction of the test track some distance away from the main compound. She goosed the throttle, and the 5-door rally-bred hatchback responded with instant, rocket-like acceleration provided by the aftermarket Garrett Variable-Geometry turbocharger that shoved her back momentarily into her seat as she approached the track entrance, where the pit area was also located.
While the test track was based on a racing circuit, it did not have the traditional pit lane alongside a starting grid, so any thoughts of organized FIA-style racing would require a renovation to entertain. Allison cinched up her seatbelt by pulling the slack out all the way until she heard a click, and then slowly let the seatbelt reel itself back in, the locking mechanism securing her firmly against the seat. Easing the Delta onto the track, she throttled up, and the 4-wheel-drive hatchback gained grip as she took off down the main straightaway before disappearing past the first sweeping left-hand turn.
Soon, Allison was mounting an all-out assault on the apexes and chicanes of the SWA test track, each successive turn punctuated by the temporary rumble of her Lancia's sports tires on the kerbing of each turn. She was on her way towards the penultimate corner of the track back into the main straight when the roar of a high-strung motorcycle engine popped into her world. A quick glance revealed it was Adeline Melita, the only recon cyborg in the whole of Section 2 to use a motorcycle in all her missions. Her BMW R100 touring bike screamed to higher revs as the biker girl twisted the throttle further back, rocketing out of the corner and into the straight. She gave Allison a wave before accelerating further while Allison smiled and shook her head. Allison respected motorcycles—Brian himself owned a Yamaha Virago touring bike—but she just didn't hold a lot of interest in them.
As she headed into the sweeping left after Adeline, however, a noise came from behind that she definitely had an interest in. It was a V8, and not just any V8. Specifically, it was a Chevrolet-built LS1 small-block V8 churning out 402 big-block brake horsepowers down the driveshaft and out the rear wheels of a fast-approaching Holden Special Vehicles VT Commodore GTS Series II 4-door saloon car. As the Australian muscle sedan approached, Allison blipped her horn at the driver, Kyo Fitzgibbons. Kyo was the brother in a pair of Japanese twins who had recently been taken into the Social Welfare Agency and their handler was a female Australian pilot-for-hire that worked with the SWA in support of field operations by providing air-dropped supplies and Close Air Support capability.
Kyo waved back as he overtook Allison into the corner, skillfully blipping the brakes, causing a weight shift as he mashed on the gas pedal before pumping it, sending the Commodore into a prolonged tire-smoking powerslide round the corner, which Allison found herself jealous of. Grinning, she downshifted to catch up, the variable-geometry turbocharger spooling quickly, almost as if it were a supercharger. Entering the corner, she yanked the handbrake as she steered, breaking her Delta's rear tires loose and hit the accelerator, using minimal countersteer, due to the Lancia's all-wheel-drive setup, as she performed a clean four-wheel drift out of the corner exit. Relaxing the accelerator to regain grip, the Delta snapped back in line and she gunned the throttle, homing in on Kyo. The boy did not fail to notice the Monza Red hatchback quickly looming in his rear-view mirror.
"Oh c-crap, she's serious!" Kyo said to himself nervously. "All right, I guess I can give her a run for her money." he added, regaining his confidence that he usually had when driving the Commodore. Shifting up, he gunned the pedal as the sedan gained power and rocketed down the straight as Allison also shifted up and brought up the revs on her Delta. She caught up as Kyo slowed down to take the corner, and Allison took the inside as Kyo began making the turn, bringing her to the lead. Soon enough, the two became engaged in a sort of tsuiso, a chase run composed almost entirely of drifting as they dueled slide for slide, smoke cloud for smoke cloud. The muscular Commodore blew away the Delta in the straights, but its lumbering weight slowed it down and made it harder to control in a drift while Allison's less-powerful but more balanced Delta HF Integrale Evoluzione II reeled him in. The two showboated all in good fun, and for a while, it was just them letting their hair down while exercising their skills and lead feet until the roar of an aircraft engine zoomed by overhead. It was Kyo's twin sister, Ryo, piloting the very maneuverable SIAI-Marchetti SF.260 single-seat sport aircraft mere meters above the track, flying low and fast. As she zoomed past overhead, she banked off at the turn up ahead and soared into the air in a steep ascent, activating the smoke generator mounted at the tail of the aircraft as she began performing maneuvers seen at airshows, including corkscrews, barrel rolls, and loops. If Kyo was meant to handle the earth on four wheels, his sister would support him from above, mastering the skies.
As Ryo did her own thing, Allison and Kyo continued racing around the test track until their fuel levels were becoming a tad low. Pulling into the pits to refuel, the two noticed that some handlers had also come out to play. Annette's handler-slash-mother Sarah Golan pulled into the track driving her very aggressive and loud 1969 Ford Mustang Mach 1, its Boss 302 V8 idling menacingly, and the occasional rev revealing the high-pitched whine of a Paxton NOVI supercharger, as if it were a Rolls-Royce Merlin engine from a Supermarine Spitfire stuffed under the hood rather than anything built by Ford Motor Company. Kyo and Ryo's handler Jennifer Fitzgibbons also showed up in her 1976 Holden LX Torana 5000 SLR, which sported a modified 5-liter OHV V8 boosted by Throttle-body injection as evidenced by the external intake manifold that jutted out above the carbon-fiber hood as well as a TWR supercharger. They should have been rivals, as Ford and Holden fans are apt to be, but the two women would be taking on two male handlers coming in; both driving rally-bred cars. Ike's handler Michael McMillan was running a 1995 Ford Escort Cosworth RS, kept stock for his own reasons, while Johanneke's handler Marcus Spriggs rolled in with his Mitsubishi Lancer Evolution IX FQ-360. Unlike Michael, he had his car tuned up by Allison with a new exhaust and air intake, but most importantly, a BorgWarner Variable-Geometry turbocharger that would give him all the turbo power he needed without the lag. It was going to be another muscle-versus-handling battle, but it was one Allison would not be around to watch, though Kyo might have been persuaded by his handler to give chase or at least watch how the grown-ups do things. After she refueled, she exited the pits to head back to the compound just as the four handlers eased their way onto the track with a rolling start, Supercharged V8's and Turbocharged four-bangers roaring in a disorganized cacophony. While there was still daylight, Allison had to get some target practice in as part of her training regimen, though it would not involve shooting from her car, which was one of her specialties. Some garden-variety target practice was in order, and she met up with Brian, whose RS6 was parked near the outdoor shooting range, comprised of improvised firing lanes and a large dirt mound serving as a backstop for the shooters' bullets. Brian was already getting his eye in with both his Heckler & Koch HK416 carbine and his Kimber Stainless Custom II service pistol, and a handful of other fratello were there to practice as well. He stopped firing as Allison parked her Delta nearby, letting the engine idle as the turbocharger settled down before shutting off the engine.
"About time you showed up, sunshine." said Brian over the din of firing, reaching into his pocket to remotely unlock the trunk of the RS6. "I brought your primary out for you. Let's get rolling."
Allison did as told, retrieving her Tavor CTAR-21 and its accompanying magazines, as well as some spares, she noted, for her Kimber.
As Allison began expertly placing rounds on-target downrange, the other cyborgs also doing target practice varied in their own styles. At one far end of the firing lanes, Handler Chelsea Koch observed Scott as he practiced aimed, controlled bursts with his unusually-configured Knight's Armament Company "ChainSAW," a modified Stoner Light Machine Gun that was designed to be fired from the hip as if it were an M56 "Smartgun" from the James Cameron movie Aliens. A laser sight was mounted on the weapon to facilitate aiming for the weapon, since its current configuration precluded the usage of its sights. The intermittent, staccato chatter of the suppressed belt-fed machine gun made the thing sound like a typewriter as it obliterated the man-sized target downrange.
Meanwhile, somewhat nearer Allison and Brian were Matthew and his handler Alonso DiGirolomo. As the latter fired controlled bursts from his Barrett M468 carbine, he often glanced over at his cyborg, who was busy blazing away at his target with both his and his handler's sidearms, which were Magnum Research Desert Eagle .50AE handguns. He held one each of the monstrous, ridiculous hand cannons in each hand at a 45-degree cant, and simply emptied the 8-round magazines at the target. While an impressive sight, it was not accurate shooting, each bullet either missing the target completely or winging the man-sized target in areas that were less lethal than center-of-mass. He then switched to his custom gold-plated AKMS assault rifle, and upon racking a round into the chamber, fired the weapon on fully-automatic from the hip. He burned through the 30-round magazine quickly, and instead of reloading, he pulled out a pair of his own Beretta 92FS Inox pistols and was about to continue further sideways-shooting idiocy when Alonso finally corrected him.
"Keep you gun in this position and line up the sights." said Alonso, twisting his charge's gun-toting hand back to a more normal position. "Now, shoot."
Matthew popped off a few rounds, which struck the target dead-center.
"Now, isn't that better?" asked Alonso.
"It ain't got no style, A-dawg!" replied Matthew in complaint. "I think it looks cooler when I aim my gat sideways, know what I'm sayin?"
"Matthew, be honest with me." said Alonso. "Do you think the Padania will care how cool you look when you're shooting at them?"
"No, sir." sulked Matthew.
"Exactly. And you'll just be wasting ammo, giving them the opportunity to paste you when you reload. Do you really want that?"
"No, sir."
"Good. Then keep practicing, and aim like you do on missions this time."
As Matthew embarked on a round of corrected shooting, Scott was now on a radio with Ryo.
"Riflebird three-zero, this is Claymore. Requesting Close Air Support on my mark, over."
"Copy, Claymore. Mark your target, over." replied Ryo, approaching the target range in the P-51D Mustang she had switched to.
Scott shoved a red smoke round into the underbarrel grenade launcher mounted on his ChainSAW, aimed at an old truck downrange, and fired it, the canister pirouetting through the air before landing and spewing its contents.
"Claymore has red smoke, repeat, red smoke away, over!"
"Riflebird confirms red smoke, Claymore."
"Lay in a strafing fire, 200 meters from perimeter."
"Roger, Claymore. Get your heads down."
Scott quickly called out to the others on the firing range. "Friendly aircraft inbound, hold your fire and get your heads down!"
Everyone knew that this had only recently become routine, but they did as told, anyway. Allison held her fire and got belly-down on the ground along with Brian, the other handlers and their cyborgs following suit. Ryo swept in overhead with her Mustang, Rolls-Royce Merlin engine on full combat power, and started opening fire with the 25mm Bushmaster chainguns mounted on the bottom of the fuselage, booming like thunder as they fired. The 25mm HE rounds kicked up gobs of dirt as they eventually found their target with the truck, sending the unusable vehicle up in a spectacular fireball as Ryo gained altitude upon completing her strafing.
"Target engaged, Claymore. Any other targets, over?"
"None at this time, Riflebird. Thanks for the assist, over."
"Solid Copy, Claymore. Riflebird out."
The P-51 flew back the way it came in, waggling its wings as it flew past overhead. The handlers and their cyborgs on the range's firing line got to their feet as they watched what had been previously been an old delivery truck burn as a pile of scrap metal.
"Scott, dawg, that was tight!" complimented Matthew. "Y'all smoked that hooptie like it was bacon! One second, it was just some bust-a-john sitting all wack-ass down there, then BLAOW! One-eight-seven on that truck, yo!"
"Not me, man. I just called it in. Ryo did all the shooting for that one." replied Scott modestly.
"Still, it was outta sight." added Matthew with a grin.
As sunset turned into evening, the cyborgs and their handlers rushed to the cafeteria for dinner, served up by Becky and her handler/mother Cindy Schmidt. While there were plenty of leftovers from the cookout lunch, what really drew everyone in this evening was the monthly 'Taco Night', an event introduced by Cindy, who was an expert with Tex-Mex cooking. The taco shells were made at least a month in advance from scratch, cooked, and then stored for the eventual Taco Night the following month. By keeping them sealed properly, the tortilla shells were unlikely to go stale, and when combined with all the filling items, there was a satisfying crunch as the diners present made that first bite into that seemingly-exotic Southwest American creation. For people who previously lived on a diet of whatever was available, and at that, predominantly European cuisine, Becky and Cindy were a welcome addition to the Social Welfare Agency, because not only was the food they made different from what they had been dining on before, but their food was made with the kind of love and care that mothers and grandmothers exude from their kitchens.
"I have to admit, I need to learn from those two." said Kara, biting into the first taco on her plate, piled high with ground beef, shredded lettuce, melting cheese, and sour cream. "I never thought this stuff would be so damn good."
"Feeling threatened by their culinary prowess, are we?" Allison teased.
"Hardly. Though they certainly bring something new to the table, metaphorically and literally speaking."
Allison rolled her eyes. "If that's what you want to believe, then all right. Perhaps a cook-off is not far ahead in the future?"
"Perhaps." concluded Kara, taking another bite and savoring the taste. "Oishii!"
At Matthew and Alonso's table, the younger of the two was well into his fourth taco.
"Mmf! Oh man, I could grub on these all day, yo!" exclaimed Matthew. "Taco Bell ain't got nothing on Becky and Ms. Schmidt!"
"Darlin', if Taco Bell is the standard you judge my cookin' by, it's only fair you deserve more." said Cindy, approaching with another tray of tacos. "Poor dear, y'all never tasted real home cookin' before gettin' here, have you?"
"Closest I could ever get was Taco Bell, ma'am." Matthew admitted to the Texan woman.
"Well then, you just eat up, sug'. There's plenty to go around tonight." said Cindy with a smile. Matthew returned it as he dug in while Alonso shook his head, a small smile on the man's face.
"You're spoiling him, Cindy." said Alonso. "You keep doing this, he's gonna grow fat and slow."
"Says the man who gave his boy a gold-plated AK-47." Cindy shot back. "Last I remember, ol' Lorenzo told me that it's practically impossible for this special set of kids to get bogged down with fat. Besides, look at him, he's as thin as a rail!"
"Thanks for the food, Ms. Schmidt!" said Matthew in between mouthfuls.
"Anytime, hon. Me and Becky are always looking for reasons to cook, so if you're ever hungry, let us know, and we'll see if we can't whip up a pick-me-up for ya."
"Much appreciated, Ms. Schmidt."
"Y'all take care now and enjoy your food, hear? I'm gonna go see Erina now; she's probably the only girl who can put 'em away like you, Matthew."
"Thanks again!"
Cindy got up and began walking away to another table where a 15-year-old girl with headphones around her neck was devouring what appeared to be half a dozen tacos. Matthew and Alonso watched the Texan woman leave before Matthew began making comments.
"Man, Ms. Schmidt is so nice, I wish she was my moms." said Matthew, directing his eyes towards his handler. "She's single, last I heard. Why don't you marry her?"
Alonso was taken by surprise from the casual way Matthew asked the question, producing a spit take as he drank from his glass of water.
"Are you crazy? I'm like ten years younger than her! Granted, she's a nice lady, but not my type. Besides, I know you like Becky-"
"Again with that noise?" said Matthew nervously. "Why does everyone think I like her? I just think she real cool, y'know?"
"Right. Whatever, keep telling yourself that." said Alonso. "Now then, as I was saying—before I was so rudely interrupted—I know you like Becky, so how about you be the one to get hitched, instead? Just work on your English skills some more, and I'm sure she will be a lovely wife for you in no time."
The seriousness faded from Alonso's face as he began to chuckle as Matthew turned redder at the thought.
"W-well, I guess if she were m-my wife, I-I would be the happiest man in the world." admitted Matthew sheepishly.
"See? There you go, just be honest with yourself. That wasn't so hard, was it?" asked Alonso.
"Harder than you think, dawg." Matthew shot back indignantly.
After dinner, there were mere hours to go until lights-out. Some of the handlers went home, including Brian and Michele, to their apartments or other homes in Rome nearby. As for the cyborgs, it was time to kill by catching up on their studies, or indulging in hobbies. Allison was on her way to get some videogame time in before bed back at her dorm with Petra when she stopped by one of the newly-built common rooms for handlers and cyborgs alike. These common rooms were set up in a lounge-like fashion, and they were typically stocked with a mini-fridge of caffeine-free diet soft drinks (to prevent any sugar rushes) and bottled water, a large television, and a number of chairs and tables arranged for a relaxed setting. This common room happened to have a PlayStation 2 hooked up to the television, and the game that the room's occupants had chosen was Konami's Dance Dance Revolution Supernova. Currently, the sound of feet thundering down on arcade-quality Cobalt Fusion dance pads resounded as Tatsh and Naoki's Red Zone went through its finale, ending on a jump step for both players. Allison popped her head in to see that Petra was playing against Erina's handler, Nate Gilbert. While Petra had managed to eke out an "A" rating on Basic difficulty (no small task, for anyone who's at best played DDR casually), Nate had an obsessive talent for the game ever since he first got it as a child, and he had missed absolutely zero steps, nailing a perfect 357-step combination on Expert difficulty, earning him an "AAA" rating and a new record. Petra huffed and puffed with the effort she had put into making her rating on basic, yet here stood Nate, hardly a bead of sweat on his brow, and looking ready to go again.
"Are you even human?" Petra asked in between gasps.
"As far as I know, yes." answered Nate in an almost smug tone.
"Bullshit, you're probably some kind of new-generation cyborg that no one knows about yet. That, or an alien or something."
"Well, back in my high school days, people often stared at me as if I was from another planet, so your theory might have some basis there." Nate shot back with a grin, to which Petra just gave a tired groan.
"Hate to interrupt your witty banter, Mr. Gilbert, but where's Erina?" asked Allison.
"Probably in her room, mixing up something new on her turntable mixer. That, or replicating a DJ Hero mix, which she has done over 9000 times."
"Thanks!" replied Allison, ignoring the handler's use of an overused internet phrase. She left the room in search of Erina's dorm room, shared with Ryo. One thing about that room was that it was easy to find, especially when Erina was busy practicing her mixing. It would be the only room in the girls' dorm with flashing lights seeping out from the crack in the door jamb, and depending on the track(s) being mixed, a heavy, pulsating bass beat that one could feel from down the hall.
Approaching Erina's room, Allison laid her hand on the doorknob when from inside the room came four gunshots in succession, and she jumped back, anticipating contact. But as she listened carefully, she could hear the main background beat of Paper Planes by M.I.A., and the lyrics of Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive played over the track. Breathing a sigh of relief, she twisted the doorknob to open the door and was met full-force by the audio coming out of the surround-sound speaker system in the room. The black-haired DJ was lost in her own world, eyes closed as she grooved to the beat, keeping the hook of Paper Planes going as she faded out Bon Jovi's lyrics, switching out that song for Benny Benassi's Satisfaction, starting a loop of the main hook as she faded out the M.I.A. song, bringing up the vocals of Sir Mix-A-Lot's Baby Got Back. The result was fun to dance to, the lyrics were hilarious, and she started adding her own scratch effects at certain points after the first verse, her left hand working the crossfader as her right hand blipped the record of Baby Got Back to and fro, achieving the best prolonged scratch effect.
"Erina!" Allison called, but the young DJ didn't hear her.
"ERINA!" Allison called again, this time Erina snapping her eyes open and immediately stopping her turntables.
"Oh hey, Allie!" replied Erina cheerily. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Not with this sound system blaring like it is, you won't. Anyway, can I have my Guns of the Patriots soundtrack back?"
"Oh sure, let me get it real quick." Erina turned to the shelf behind her and flipped through the collection until she found a CD case containing the Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns of the Patriots Official Soundtrack disc. She pulled it out and handed it to Allison.
"What are you planning to do with the songs you ripped?" Allison inquired.
"Not sure yet, but wait a little, I'll come up with something good."
"Dibs on first listen!"
"You got it, Allie. Anything else?" asked Erina, replacing her headphones around her neck.
"Nope, just wanted my CD back. Good luck and good night, Er'."
"Isn't that the other way around? Anyway, I'll see you round, Allison."
Heading back to her room, Allison was alone as she booted up her Xbox 360 game console, which today had a purpose-designed racing wheel connected to one of its USB ports. As Allison loaded up Forza Motorsport 3, signing on as 'AMDrifter89', she got a party invite from a fellow Xbox Live 'friend' located in some unknown location around the world. Fortunately, Allison never once used her actual name (especially when signing up for Xbox Live), and for that matter, neither did any of her online buddies. It gave a sense of camaraderie, yet no one risked any serious violation of their privacy, thanks to the blanket of anonymity that the Microsoft Corporation provided with the service. When she saw that the party was about to race on Fuji Speedway, Allison quickly selected a car from her garage—a facsimile of her real-life Lancia Delta HF Integrale Evoluzione II. She locked in her selection, and the games began.
An hour later, Petra arrived from her shower just as Allison placed first in the final race of the evening, this one in Silverstone Circuit. Allison bade her online friends goodbye as she logged out of Xbox Live and turned off the console.
"How'd it go?" asked Petra.
"The usual. I smoked everyone else."
"You should really play with a gamepad. That's just unfair to the other guys you're playing with."
"They all play with wheels just so that they can keep up. Even then, that doesn't work."
Petra shrugged and clambered to her bed on the top bunk as Allison went to shower. 15 minutes later, the brunette was back in the dorm room as lights-out took effect. Allison tucked herself under the covers of her bed, Petra already snoring lightly above her.
"What a great day." Allison mused aloud before she went to sleep, herself.