Life, Liberty, And…

A Gunslinger Girl fan fiction by:

Sintendo

Chapter Fifteen: Curtain Fall

(Narrator: Bradley)

Rome, Italy; 1300 hours, May 7, 2006

The tranquility of the plaza Claes and I observed from our table at a small café we occupied was nothing short of a miracle, at least in my eyes. Citizens, businessmen, and schoolchildren alike conglomerated together, appearing not to have a care in the world; each one going about during their free lunch hour, or whatever it was that attracted them to stroll in the early spring sunshine.

It was unfortunate that only we knew of the imminent danger that approached.

"May I take your order?" a waiter with a snobby appearance asked.

I cleared my throat and said, "I will be having the salami and mozzarella panino with a side of marinated olives."

The waiter wrote down the order and then asked Claes, "And may I have your order, young lady?"

I cleared my throat once more, gaining the attention of the waiter and interrupting Claes in the process, "My daughter will have the eggplant frittata with extra mixed vegetables and a dash of ricotta on the side."

The waiter smiled, "Excellent choices."

"Also, I'd like a bottle of Amarone della Valpolicella to share."

"Very good," said the waiter after writing the orders, "I will return shortly with your wine."

As the waiter left, I happily returned my attention to the newspaper on my lap only to find the girl from across the table giving me a menacing glare. I couldn't help but smile, but I did my best to try and hide my emotion; a sip of water helped calm my expression, but I doubt it did much.

Finally, it was Claes' turn to smile, "'Extra vegetables'?" She questioned, "What am I? 7 years old?"

"A growing young woman must watch her figure," I teased, "Lest she winds up fat and unmarried at the age of 40."

An elderly woman grunted from behind, which I promptly chose to ignore.

Claes shook her head, "You do know that I happen to enjoy vegetables, right?"

I took a moment to ponder, "Oh, right. You have that garden and all."

Our conversation was briefly interrupted by a gaggle of waiters serving the chilled wine to the both of us. Taking a small sip, Claes wiped her lips, almost spitting out the crimson beverage.

"It's much too strong," She complained, "This isn't appropriate for lunch."

"Oh?" I smiled, "And since when were you such a connoisseur?"

Claes took another sip of the wine, only this time she was able to tolerate the high amount of alcohol, "Since now, I supposed."

"I just wanted to relax a bit before everything goes to hell."

"Since when did you use alcohol to re— ah, never mind."

I settled into my chair. Closing my eyes after allowing a portion of the wine to envelope my senses, I almost fell into a trance, letting loose countless memories stored within my mind.

"I can't believe it's already been a year." I said after a brief silence.

"Has it?" Claes wondered, "Oh, it has, hasn't it? I didn't notice until now. Doesn't that mean your inspection duty is almost over?"

"Yeah. Which means I'll be heading home soon."

"Oh."

I ignored all proper etiquette by drinking half of my glass of wine, "So anyways," I changed the subject, "Our 'guy' is supposed to show up around 1:30 in this area. You tell me when you see him. You memorized his voice clips and photographs?"

"Of course I did," Claes said with an aura of confidence, "Why wouldn't I?"

I nodded in approval, "Good."

Claes still had something on her mind, so she asked, "So, when you go back home, does that mean you're supposed to disavow any knowledge of The Agency?"

"Yeah," I sighed, "I've been thinking about that a lot, recently."

"I can tell."

"Actually, I have something special planned before my inspection duty is over."

"You mean like a surprise?" She groaned; quite loudly, might I add.

"You could say that," I smiled, "Though I'm not sure how approving both Chiefs would be about it, but I'm positive that you'll love it."

"Stop being so smug," Claes pouted, "The completion of your duty is weeks away; why are you telling me this now? You think I'll die from curiosity?"

I couldn't help but laugh, "I'm sorry. It's just this bad habit I have; I'm not good at keeping secrets, I guess."

"Secrets, huh?" Claes said, "That reminds me; I noticed that you always carry those revolvers around with you. I've been curious about those. Care to explain?"

I retrieved the revolver that rested at the back of my hips, the one called "Raging Bull". No doubt a few onlookers were shocked at the sight of a weapon, but I didn't care much. If questioned, I had the proper documents that allow me to carry it.

After emptying the chambers of their projectiles, I handed the weapon to Claes for her to inspect.

"That," I told Claes, "Was given to me by my mother."

"Your mother?"

"Yes. She left me when I was 16. She told me to join the military, and so I did, but before she left, she had this made just for me; something to remember her by, I suppose. A bit too powerful for my taste - its recoil is too much for a firefight – but most of the time, people run at the mere sight of it."

"Wait, your mother left you? Why?"

"Who knows?" I shrugged, "Did I ever tell you that I was an orphan?"

She shook her head, "I can't recall."

"Well I was adopted by my mother when I was 3 or 4, I can't remember, but after that, my mom and I never stayed in one place for more than 3 days at a time. She always told me, '3 days is enough to get a feel for a place without falling for it'."

"So you were wanderers?" By now, I could tell that Claes was genuinely interested with my story.

"'Wanderers' is not quite right. I prefer the term 'travelers' who traveled on this old Harley-Davidson motorcycle. Anyways, she was the one who taught me everything that I know now. Martial arts, marksmanship, survival techniques, what-have-you; she was my teacher for everything."

"Wow, she must have been good at all those things then."

"I guess." I shrugged.

"What about the other gun?" Claes asked, "Looks more worn than this.

After taking the weapon in question from my chest holster – the Mateba Model 6 Unica - I repeated the same procedure of removing the rounds and handed it to Claes.

"This was my mom's personal handgun," I said, "Honestly, I don't like it as well, since it uses the same rounds as the other, and because it's popular among internet freaks for its use in some cartoon; but it never leaves my side."

Claes appeared to be confused, "You said your mother left you. So did she give you this as well?"

Before answering, I finished my glass of wine. Then I said, "I found it."

"'Found it'?" She echoed, "Where?"

"Found it in dusty old village in Afghanistan about 5 years ago. This man gave it to me after my squad and I defended his house from a few muggers."

"How did he get a hold it?"

I gulped, "He…," I hesitated, but forced myself to press forward, "He said he took it from a woman dying of thirst in the desert."

Claes was silent.

I let out a nervous chuckle, "He laughed when he described how she begged for something to drink; said she was so dehydrated that her eyes turned red because of the lack of tears, and that she sounded like she was shouting a whisper. He took everything from here; the motorcycle that she traveled on, that gun, her rations, supplies, even the clothes off her back. Apparently he made a small fortune selling the items he pilfered."

Claes finally spoke, "What did you do?"

I sighed, "Nothing."

"Why?"

I sighed, "I didn't—"

Thankfully, our conversation was once again interrupted by our waiter. He quickly served us, refilled our wine glasses, and then headed back to tend to the other customers.

Meanwhile, Claes mumbled to herself.

"What was that?" I asked.

"I said, 'Why didn't you have your revenge on the guy'?"

I replied, "Because he had kids, I suppose."

"So?"

I laughed, "You'll understand when you have kids of your own."

"I don't plan on having children, thank you very much." She said with a bit of ire.

For the remainder of our stay at the café, Claes and I enjoyed our lunch, only speaking to comment on the food, or at certain passer-bys that caught our fancy. Once we finished eating, we sat and waited for our target to arrive. It felt as though only a few moments passed, but it wasn't until our waiter reminded us of the time that I realized it was nearly dusk.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid we are closing to prepare for the evening guests." The waiter apologized.

I checked my pocket-watch, sighing loudly as I read the time aloud, "5 o'clock. It seems like they aren't showing up."

"I'm sorry, sir, but were you expecting someone?"

"You could say that," I responded, and then to Claes, "Come on, let's go home."

In the next second, I was on the floor; everything around me faded into black…

…The blast destroyed an entire city block. Its point of origin was located about half a building away from where a prominent U.S. General was located…

Bzzzzt

…There are several unconfirmed fatalities. However, there are 347 reported injured victims of the blast, including a United States General, whose name has been unreleased. We are told that this General was on vacation in Italy, and was having lunch when…

Bzzzzt

…We are being told that the General is in critical condition as of now, and was rushed to the recently acquired Rome U.S. Army hospital. Details are scarce as of now, but it appears that the General was involved the acquisition of the former Social Welfare hospital in Rome…

Bzzzzt

…It is unknown whether this was a terrorist attack or not, but apparently the most heavily injured person was a U.S. Military General. No details as of yet, but we have an eyewitness report that the General was found unconscious and, quote, "In a 3-inch deep pool of his own blood", end quote…

Bzzzzt

…We are receiving breaking news now. According to Roman Officials, the radical terrorist organization "The Padania Republic Faction" are claiming responsibility, stating that it was their intent to send a message to the U.S. to stay out of Italy, and that their target was indeed a still unnamed General of the U.S. Army…

Bzzzzt

…U.S. officials say that they have no intention of declaring war against Padania, but that they will suffer the consequences for their actions…

Bzzzzt

…Once again, The General is in critical condition. Our sources say that his body was nearly severed in half and that he has lost 80 percent of his blood, but it is still unclear what kind of injuries he has suffered…

Bzzzzt

Triela shut off the television from across the room; if the news was depressing to her, then it must have been devastating for her roommate. She was about to say a few words of comfort but was interrupted by Claes herself.

"Why'd you turn it off?" She asked.

Triela was at a loss for words.

"Turn it back on, I was watching the news."

Reluctantly, Triela powered up the television once more and added, "Why? Why would you want to keep hearing all of this?"

"Its news," Claes said, "I find the news interesting."

"Don't you care what happened to Bradley? That he's hurt right now?"

"What can I do?"

"Don't mope around here, pretending that you could care less."

It was obvious that Triela struck a nerve; Claes threw the nearest cloth article to the ground.

"Go see him," Triela said while shutting off the television, "Before you regret it."

Social Welfare Agency: Briefing Room; Rome, Italy; 0100 hours, May 8, 2006

Finding a small gathering of adults in the hallway, Claes knew that she was walking in the right direction. Once an agent recognized her, they stepped out of the way as if she were parting them by will power alone. There, in the center of the huddled mass, sat Percy and Rei, comforting each other outside the door to Bradley's assigned room.

Percy was the first to speak, "How are you doing, Claes?"

The girl nearly forgot that she, too, was caught in the epicenter of the blast; her cybernetic modifications protecting her from major damage, but bandages that covered her body was a sign that she did sustain cuts and scrapes.

She shook her head, "I'm alright, and you two?"

Percy forced a smile, "Tired. Too much happening all at once."

"Oh?"

"Chief Lorenzo sent out several of the fratello for emergency recon. They're checking to see if Padania is up to something or even if they're still around at all."

"I see."

Percival choked up a bit as he spoke, "Hey, why don't you go and see him?"

"Am I—" She stepped forward, "Am I allowed to?"

"Yeah, the doctors won't mind. We're shipping him home in a few hours, so… you should say goodbye."

Claes gulped, "Alright."

She entered the room alone. The rhythmic beeps and mechanical sounds of the delicate instruments guided her through the dark corridor. She stood at the bedside; the pulsing mass of burnt flesh contrasted by white sheets looked nothing like the man she admired only hours before.

"Bradley," she said softly, "Sir? It's me, Claes."

The man was best described as a shadow of his former self; quite literally as well.

Claes continued, "I hear you're going home tomorrow."

Bradley slowly nodded.

"That's good. You'll have a better time recovering there."

"Claes…" Bradley managed to groan.

She leaned in closer, "Yes?"

"…My surprise… I'm sorry…"

"Don't worry about it," She assured him, "Whatever it is, just don't worry about it. You can have Percy send it to me."

It took Bradley a moment to form a complete sentence, "I can't… send…it."

"You shouldn't talk, you'll hurt yourself."

"I… was," he continued, "…going to…join… agency…"

The girl was left breathless.

"I'm…sorry… my… mistake… sat too long…"

"Don't blame yourself for something that you didn't do!" Claes cried, "It wasn't your fault. I'll do whatever it takes to find the ones responsible for this! We'll make them pay!"

"I'm proud… I should have… joined earlier…. still have lots to teach."

Claes's laugh was almost unnatural, "You should save your energy. By this time tomorrow you'll be home, getting better. You shouldn't worry about me… anymore."

Bradley managed to smile before the final ounces of energy drained from his body.

"You'll do fine."

The abrupt ending is exactly how this author wants you to feel; wanting more, but never being able to receive it...

…just my two cents, is all. 'Till next time.