Life, Liberty, And…
A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:
Sintendo
Chapter Ten: Tipping The Ashes
(Bradley: Narrator)
Social Welfare Agency: Bradley's Room, Rome, Italy; 0700 hours, August 8, 2005
Cigarette.
The thought of smoking was the first thing that popped into my mind; which was odd because my head ached so much that it felt as though it was going to fall off at any moment. My clothes from the night before were still on my body, and I had a strange sensation coming from my arms.
I scratched at the source of the weird, itching sensation and at the same time, felt my sticky skin. I was already late for morning P.T., and no doubt Percy would have my head for this, so I decided that a quick shower wouldn't hurt.
I still needed that cigarette.
Social Welfare Agency: Cafeteria, Rome, Italy; 0730 hours, August 8, 2005
Another thought occurred to me as I approached the cafeteria doors: how the hell did I get home?
Claes would provide the answer for me.
It was abnormally bright outside, so I had to equip myself with my darkest pair of sunglasses. Slipping a cigarette between my lips, I began to think about possible drivers for our trek home last night. Baldo was a good suspect; I wouldn't put it beside Benny for letting him drive his Lotus. Another possible suspect would be Nacho. He was certainly tall enough.
"Too much thinking, old man," I said to myself, garnering a few stares from a few passer-bys, "Thinking gives you wrinkles."
Upon entering the cafeteria, I spotted my son and his usual gang: Rei, Jose, Henrietta, Rico and Jean. With the exception of the blonde man, everyone else was dressed appropriately for an exercise.
Usually, upon seeing me, Jean would turn away and give me the cold shoulder while a comment from Percival would provide the atmosphere. This time, though, the two of us acknowledged each other with a nod, tipping his sunglasses that were identical as mine. Now I was sure it was a miracle that we were able to come home in one piece.
After my little stare down, I decided to skip my usual cereal breakfast, and instead opted for a bagel sandwich, exiting the premises at once.
The comments from Percival were muffled, but were nonetheless, hilarious, "Wh-What the hell did he do to you?"
Social Welfare Agency, Rome, Italy; 0745 hours, August 8, 2005
The thought hadn't occurred to me at the time, but I realized that a few people missing from the breakfast table. One absent person was the most obvious; Claes was already used to the schedule I assigned her, yet she was nowhere to be seen. I wasn't mad, of course, just a bit curious.
The other missing persons were Marco and Angelica. Marco left in a storm the other day, so I wasn't really surprised that he was absent, but Angelica was used to Marco's schedule as well – just like Claes is used to mine. Her situation confused me to no end, but after only a few more minutes of wandering about, I found my answer.
There, in the courtyard sitting at the edge of the fountain, was Marco. His hands were crossed; one of them holding a clipboard, and the other a pen. There was a stern look on his face, almost as if here were annoyed. I cautiously approached him.
"Where's Angelica?" I asked.
"Running laps," he grunted, "Around the entire campus."
"Oh," I guess he wasn't satisfied with her performance when jogging with the others, "So where have you been?"
"None of your business," he said, "Let me ask you something, though: who gave you permission to take Angelica outside the agency?"
"She was bored." I answered.
"That does not give you permission to take her outside. She's my cyborg, and I tell her what to do. Got it?"
I puffed my cigarette, "Calm down, I only took her to the summer festival with some of the other kids."
"She would have spent the other day doing something productive, like training, or exercising. What a day wasted; she knows what to do when I'm away," He sighed, "Not only that but you let her get a taste for candy."
"What's wrong with candy?"
"Her body is fragile; she can't handle the sugar rush!"
"But she can handle this much running?"
He was quiet.
"I was told of your situation by Jean the other day."
"What situation?" He was playing innocent.
"Angelica's memory loss, your frustrations, etc.; you're scared that she'll lose her memory again after retraining her, so you hardly even try anymore, am I right?"
"What do you think I'm doing right now?" He pointed to the clipboard, which apparently had data of Angelica's progress.
"You're sitting here, while she's learning how to run a faster mile."
He was quiet again.
"If you really believe that all this training is for naught," I continued, "Then why don't you just allow her to do as she pleases?"
Again, no response.
"You care too much for her, I can tell."
"…That I do."
"Then let her be herself. Ask her what she wants; don't just drag her by the leash. If she wants to continue to train, then let her, but," I gulped, "Lorenzo told me that too much conditioning on these children can cause side effects like memory loss, and even further conditioning may result in death."
"I know…"
"Then you know what to do."
Social Welfare Agency: Triela and Claes' Room, Rome, Italy; 0900 hours, August 8, 2005
After my little pep talk with Marco – who let Angelica off for the day, once she passed by – my pack of cigarettes suddenly felt light. I did share a few with Marco, and nearly smoked them all to kingdom come, but I stopped him so that I could save myself a few.
There was, however, one last question still lingering in my head: how the hell did we get home last night?
Of course, I wasn't standing before the bedroom door of Claes and Triela just to be weird. I softly rapped at the door, almost instantly receiving a muffled "Come in!" from the other side – the source of the voice was unknown.
Inside the room was a normal scene: Claes lost in another novel with ear buds and music on to block any disturbances, and Triela, creeping me out and making my skin crawl as always.
"Do you have to clean that thing everyday?" I pointed at her shotgun, which was fully assembled; bayonet included.
"A clean weapon never fails you in your time of need," She said, "And what's your problem? You should be nice to the person that saved your ass the other night."
I sat at the table across from her, "Oh did you drive home?"
"Yes. Everyone and I even had to stop you and Jean from jumping a few teenagers. Boy, you two have such dirty tongues. It was one curse word after another. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so angry at a handful of kids. Then again, this was my first time seeing a pair of drunken men…."
"Since when did you learn how to drive? Aren't you a little too young for driving?"
"I'll have you know that Hillshire taught me how to drive incase there wasn't anyone available during a mission. Besides, I wouldn't have done it if it weren't for Claes's badgering."
"I was not badgering," Cales hummed to the tune she was listening to, "I simply asked you and you said, 'ok'."
"Thanks," I said to both girls, "I'll have to repay you girls one of these days. Which reminds me: you girls have fun last night?"
"Oh you have no idea!" Triela was the first to say, "We spent a lot of money on candy and cakes and other sweets. We probably went on a sugar bender, now that I think about it."
"We did," Claes said, "We only had half of the money Bradley gave us when we stopped eating."
"Yeah…," Triela said, "But then we found this game where you shoot these zombies with Mini-Uzis, and the zombies would sometimes throw you to the florr, and you had to shake the uzi as fast as you can, and-"
"Hahaha," I interrupted her by holding my hand up, "Just don't tell Hillshire about this; he might end up buying you one of those machines for Christmas or something."
"I can't believe you got addicted to that thing," Claes mumbled, "They don't even have spare mags lying around. How can you expect someone to know that they have to shake the damn thing to reload?"
"It's a game," I said, "Besides, you seem to have gathered quite a crowd playing that piano game. What was it called? KeyboardMania?"
"Yes, that's what it was called," Claes closed her book and propped herself up from her prone position to a sitting one, "And I wasn't just a game, I was learning how to play some new piano pieces."
"Sure you were." Triela and I simultaneously blurted.
"Like I would ever get addicted to a silly game," she grunted, "Waste of time, that's all it is."
I smiled, "You know they have a home version of that game," I could tell that her ears perked up, "You want me to order that for you from Japan?"
Triela and I awaited her answer, which would have come as soon as I ended my sentence, but a rapid knocking came from the door.
"Who is it?" Triela called out.
Hillshire opened the door and peeked inside, "Oh, Bradley, I didn't know you were here as well. Anyways, there's a meeting at 10 o'clock. Everyone is to report to the briefing room by that time. I think we're getting ready for another mission."
Social Welfare Agency: Briefing Room, Rome, Italy; 1000 hours, August 8, 2005
Once everyone was gathered into the room, Lorenzo quickly started a presentation. With the lights dimmed, he used a clicker to advance a projector, displaying an image of a man's mugshot.
"This is Roberto Dandini; an ace reporter for La Repubblic. For a while now he's been digging up classified information on the US's 'generous offer' to help the SWA get out of debt; saying that, 'The US is more than just another contributor to the Social Welfare Agency' and that 'The SWA is more than just a government program dedicated to saving the lives of the helpless.'. Needless to say, he caught us red-handed. We need him eliminated." Lorenzo pressed the advance button once more and displayed the man's personal data from his address and telephone number, to his blood type and his glasses prescription.
The agents waited for more information before Bradley spoke up.
"That's it?" he asked.
"That's it," Lorenzo repeated, "Any volunteers? Getting rid of this man is of utmost importance."
Nobody wanted to volunteer for such a boring mission that even lowly field agents could with the need for cyborgs. The man's daily rituals were literally laid out before them; no challenge was involved in finding him. It was so routine of a mission, that even Jean – the man most eager to rid of any and all opponents of the SWA – declined to form a response to Lorenzo's offer. Bradley, however, had other plans.
"Claes volunteers." He said.
"What?" the girl shouted, "I didn't say anything."
"Yes you did," Bradley smiled, "You said you'll do this mission if I buy you a copy of that keyboard game, right?"
Claes didn't know how to respond, other than stuttering the beginnings of a few choice words.
"Now, now," Bradley slipped the last of his cigarettes between his lips, "Where did you learn such foul language, young lady?"