MEANWHILE IN ITALY
A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.
Thanks to Kiskaloo for the continued loan of Michele and Kara.
CH04 – I, Cyborg
Cold.
Again.
In the autumnal pre-dawn, Raych tried and failed to still chattering teeth, arms squeezed tight around herself as if attempting to restrain the heat's incorporeal presence. She had been here early, early enough to guarantee arriving before her handler, and it was a decision she was starting to regret as her clothing provided just as little warmth now as it had the night previous.
At least she had slept well, the other girls' reassurances and her own resolve to do better stilling earlier fears.
Now a new sound wafted to her ears: the distant sound of an approaching engine and crunch of tyres.
Unwrapping goose pimpled limbs, she knelt down to retrieve her pistol case from frigid flagstones, before standing straight and willing her body to be still so as not to show weakness when her handler arrived. She had already given him enough to be ashamed of, and was determined not to do so again.
Frustratingly, artificial flesh refused to obey, continuing to shake uncontrollably as Danilo's hatchback drew level, and despite the chill she felt her face heat in embarrassment.
There was a snap and electric whine as one of the car's windows lowered, its owner leaning over so as to speak to her from his seat. "Leave the gun in your room, you won't be need it today, and change into your exercise clothes."
"My... exercise clothes?"
From inside the car came the sound of someone stifling a sigh. "The shirt and combat pants I bought you."
"Yes sir."
"Be quick."
With that the window sealed itself once more and, as it slotted home, what had seemed a solid and comforting resolve in the presence of friends and under warm covers came crashing down.
Trying to hide her dejection, Raych turned toward the stairs. So that was it then: Danilo had given her a gun, given her a purpose and, no matter what she was told by Kara, Allison, Petra or anyone else, she had failed him in that purpose, failed him badly enough that he was now barring her from it… and if her failings were normal, then obviously "normal" would not do for her handler.
Head swirling as those same thoughts recirculated, rebounding and backing up against one another, one foot clumsily followed the other until they brought her to the dorm top floor. There, her attention was momentarily diverted as she again counted doors under dim auxiliary lamps, the distraction giving some small respite from depressive musings.
No illumination pierced the dullness from cracks around the entrance to her room and, slipping inside, she flicked the lights on, eliciting a muffled grumble from the blanket shrouded form of her roommate. Evidently Kara had returned to bed after her departure.
Trying to tread as quietly as possible on soft carpet and quashing a sniffle, Raych turned to her wardrobe, opening the doors wide. The Steyr's case was placed carefully below the gap before she stood to remove her top, fitting it roughly on its wire hanger to leave only a black undershirt. It was not much in the way of protection and, shivering again in the cold room, she fumbled with finicky boots to remove them and change into black cargo pants.
Those were roomier than her leggings, harsh and less comforting as they rubbed against fresh skin beneath. It was a sensation she should probably get used to, would have to get used to, rather than the soft touch of expensive clothes she did not deserve.
Pushing that unfamiliar sensation aside, the cyborg retrieved fallen footwear from where it had landed, before her eye turned again toward the pistol case. Stooping down, she lifted it in both hands, feeling its rough, textured surface against her fingertips, one thumb tracing the join between upper and lower halves. As she watched, a tear splashed across the moulded wording of its lid. This was a reward she could no-longer call hers either, one she no-longer had the right to possess. Perhaps she should return it, let it be entrusted to one more worthy…
…but Danilo had told her to leave it in her room.
Shoving the case as far back on a bottom shelf as it would go, Raych blocked it from sight with the black nylon bag her clothes had first been presented in, before closing the wardrobe doors: best to forget it ever existed.
Now moist eyes turned again to the boots, another task seemingly barred to her, and she bit a lip: her roommate was asleep again…
After five minutes of hopeless fumbling however, she gave in.
"Umm, Kara?"
What may have been a mumbled reply shuffled out from below the other's duvet.
"Could you do my boots for me again?"
Seated in his car, Danilo's fingers tapped impatiently on the wheel as he waited.
What was taking so long?
Peeling back a sleeve of his suit he glanced at the Seiko watch concealed there, seconds hand sweeping around in a pleasingly smooth arc to slowly drag slower brethren behind it and away from his five-thirty target start. C. Raych had been gone ten minutes already: surely she could get changed faster... especially with another, experienced, cyborg to assist.
Look on the bright side, at least the car's heater was being given a chance to take effect.
The cyborg had been shivering as well when he arrived. Come to think of it, he had not purchased her any winter clothes. That should probably be rectified seeing as, even with a mechanical, carefully engineered body, she still apparently felt the cold… another design failing. First though, it might be worth his while checking the manual to see if it was possible to block that particular sense, rather than load her with additional bulk.
Finally the trainee in question reappeared, quick steps bringing her back his direction. Gone were her poncho top, gun and leggings, replaced by a simple short-sleeved shirt and black cargo pants which, he noted, had been neatly bloused over boot tops beneath.
Leaning between the seats he pushed open a rear passenger door.
"What took so long?"
Landing on the fabric-clad bench behind, the cyborg sealed the car again, drawing a seatbelt across herself, managing only to insert the tongue in its clasp on her second attempt.
"I, umm, I had trouble with my boots, sir... sorry."
"You will need to be faster than that C. Raych." Selecting drive, Danilo pulled away from the dorm. "Didn't Kara help you?"
"She was asleep... I did not want to wake her."
Her handler stifled another sigh. "Well next time, wake her. She's there to help you, that's part of her function as your roommate and senior."
"Yes sir."
Glancing in the rear-view mirror he found his charge's form, picked out by the dimly glowing instrument panel as they moved away from brighter light sources, fingers knotting and unknotting before her. Reaching into the passenger foot well he extracted a plastic grocery bag, holding it back over his shoulder.
"Here. We won't be making the mess for breakfast, so eat up. You will need the energy."
He felt the weight lifted from his hand, followed by the rustle of plastic and paper.
"Thank you!"
That was one thing he had gleaned from his time in the medical wing: the cyborgs chewed energy, much more than a regular human, which was probably only to be expected and, as a consequence, they needed to eat much more than a regular human. From reading the manual he had also learned that the penalty for not doing so could be, it was suspected, dire.
This was all useful to know, however he had already suffered one setback in working up, one too many, and to mitigate that would leave precious little time for such niceties as sit-down breakfasts. Instead he had raided the night-kitchen's spread of snacks for pastries, fruit and muesli bars to keep his charge fuelled. Today he would need to see Ferro or the mess staff about having something more substantial prepared each night, something carbohydrate heavy which would keep until the morning.
Chasing behind warm headlights through the darkened compound, Danilo stopped briefly at a t-junction, cyborg munching away in her own world at his back. Despite there being no other vehicles in sight he checked both directions, using the moment to remember where he was supposed to be going, and pulled away again toward a tree-lined road.
"You will be working on the obstacle course today; I've booked it out so you shouldn't be disturbed."
The sounds of chewing stopped. "The others will not need it?"
"No, they have class or are deployed."
Technically, Victor Hilshire was yet to reply to his email informing the German that C. Raych would not be attending lessons that day, or at all, until she passed her Verifica della Competenza Operativa. No cyborg had been allowed beyond the campus walls without passing the third-party assessed evaluation, and that was the stage he needed to get her to as quickly as humanly, or even inhumanly, possible.
And the first step in that was getting her used to her body.
Ahead, picked out by the Civic's lamps, the Social Welfare Agency's outdoor obstacle course loomed into view from the night. There were no illuminating lights here, the facility having been constructed far from major buildings, in a clearing, amongst dense conifers to hide it from prying eyes. Formed in an elongated loop, it was encircled by a goat-track of bare earth, worn and compacted by the feet of countless instructors, and the handler gestured to this.
"Out of the car, and run ten laps to warm up."
"Yes sir."
There was another rustle from behind him, then the truncated zip of a seatbelt retracting and click of a latch, before cold air invaded the car's heated refuge once more. Quickly that was closed again, and Danilo watched as his charge jogged away, heading toward the course's darkened extremity with an ungainly gait.
There was a lot of work to do there.
Retrieving a heavy, black, trench coat from the passenger seat, the handler braced himself and made his own exit into a chill autumn morning.
Leaving the car's lights on and engine running, he positioned himself to half sit, half lean, against its bonnet, feeling scavenged heat warm cold buttocks whilst he surveyed that which lay before him. From here, the obstacle course looked much like any of the others which had been encountered through his career: all solid timber poles, rope, wire and bolts. Only on closer inspection did one begin to notice that some of the jumps were just a little higher or a little longer than would be generally expected, the handholds just a little farther apart, the wire a little lower and the foundations a little stouter.
Raych jogged past, breath crystallising in the air before her, and she slowed to glance his direction.
"Keep going!"
"Yes sir!"
Of course, not everything here required brute strength. There was no point in trying to make cyborgs stronger via physical means: that maximum came pre-set by engineers and doctors on day one. Some obstacles were obviously put there to wear the girls down, but others would require them to meter their power, learn to control it and their bodies, and balance those forces bestowed upon them by their creators. It was a course planned to teach finesse, rather than encourage massive explosions of exertion.
Another lap, and his eyes followed his own charge as she continued on, past a line of old car tyres laid on the ground, a couple of hurdles and the barbed-wire covered mud crawl, spines hanging so low as to leave anyone under it struggling to breathe. That brought a thin smile to his face: for all the cyborg-tuned design, it was nice to see that some of the sadistic classics, intended to trip a trainee up, keep their head down and knock out squeamishness, remained.
Double checking a note on his phone whilst he waited, Danilo then slipped the device away, instead pulling on black, insulated gloves as C. Raych jogged up, and he let her stand a moment. She had obviously been exerting herself, but could hardly have been called winded.
Time to change that.
"Come."
Not waiting to see if his cyborg followed or not, the handler moved briskly to the course start, marked by an old concrete railway sleeper dug into hard earth, ground around it bare from the shuffling of many nervous feet.
"You had a good chance to look at the course on your warm up, now follow me."
Starting along the perimeter path, Danilo began to talk his trailing charge through each obstacle: what it was and what she was expected to achieve with it.
Once the decision had been made to step his training plans back a few notches, finding the course design notes in the SWA's mess of a filing system had been his next task. It had not been an easy one, nor had been reading those notes from his mobile's small screen as he traipsed this same goat-track in the small hours just after midnight. Now, however, the memorised instructions flowed freely: past the rope swings, two storey wall climb and window dive, over the cargo net, widely spaced monkey bars and onward through the twenty or thirty remaining obstacles, each with its own specific task. Some were classics, others mimicked an urban environment or were there just to be plain difficult. All, however, would prove a challenge.
Arriving again at the beginning he looked down at the cyborg standing just behind him. "Did you understand all that C. Raych?"
"Umm, yes sir."
"Are you certain, C. Raych? If not we will walk it again."
There was a slight pause as her eyes darted away briefly. "Yes sir, I understand."
"Good. For your information, the course record his held by another generation two cyborg, Monique, by eleven seconds."
"Yes sir."
"She also set that during her workup period, the same stage you are now, and no-cyborg has come close since. The next fastest is Triela: hers is the time to beat."
"Yes sir."
Removing one glove, Danilo retrieved his phone to set its stopwatch.
"Then go."
At her handler's word the aspiring agent tore off toward tall hurdles and, in her wake, her caretaker shook his head: the way things had gone yesterday, he would be ecstatic if she could just beat the slowest current time.
From farther away came the thump of a body meeting stout wood planking at high speed.
Surely someone could have figured out a better way of getting each unit keyed in than this, something quicker and less likely to cause lasting damage.
C. Raych's run continued, progress marked by additional thuds or squawks of surprise, until she returned, panting and muddy, to her handler.
Stopping the digital stopwatch he glanced back to her. "Not good C. Raych, you're minutes behind even the worst personal best recorded. Go again, we will finish when you can claw your way off the bottom rung."
Still breathing heavily, the cyborg nodded. "Yes sir. Umm..."
Danilo didn't look at her as he reset the phone's timer. "Yes?"
"Who is it I have to beat?"
"Soni is currently is the slowest. Now get moving."
"Yes sir."
By now morning was beginning to break and, as dawn crept golden fingers over rolling Italian countryside, the cyborg too began to slash seconds from her time with each successive circuit. Starting his count again, the waiting handler allowed himself a glimmer of hope: this was good, there were less sounds of surprise or impact wafting to him now. Maybe it would not take so long to get operational after all.
Letting his charge run, the man turned back to kill the still idling Civic's engine: it was bright enough now that the little illumination given by its headlights would no longer be required. Leaning in through the driver's door, he noted the bag of breakfast still lay half-eaten on the rear bench. To be honest he was starting to feel hungry again himself but...
On the next lap he flagged down his runner, holding out what remained of her meal. "Take a break and finish eating."
Looking grateful she complied, peering around for seating before flopping down onto the embedded sleeper.
"Your times are coming down C. Raych, that's good."
About to take a bite from a pastry, his cyborg beamed. "Thank you sir!" Then uncertainty crossed her face. "umm... I think the clothes you bought me may have become dirty... I am sorry."
Danilo took a moment to run an eye over her: covered head to toe in mud from the crawl, with dust, sticks and loose blades of grass welded to its underlying strata from multiple falls. Thank God he had brought a towel to put beneath her for transport, and in this car it at least wouldn't matter much anyway. Once he acquired a new vehicle though it might be worthwhile investing in some sort of hardwearing seat cover, or at minimum a plastic drop sheet.
Hopefully they would be finished training by then.
"They're exercise clothes, getting dirty is what they're for."
That earned him another beamed smile as she attacked the rest of her meal with gusto.
Like too many good things though the happiness was fleeting. As the day wore on, Raych's times plateaued, the initial drop seemingly resultant of merely learning the course, or increased visibility under daylight... or a combination of both. Between her second breakfast and dinner she barely managed to claw another five seconds, still a long way from even the next slowest time, and it was a much less enthusiastic Danilo whom found himself writing his first training report from the handlers' offices that evening.
Finishing the last paragraph, the man stretched back in his chair to rest his eyes a moment and look around the room. He didn't like working down here, it felt old, worn, second hand. From the ancient, reused desks and tall windows, to the suspended steel framework above, hung beneath high ceilings with neatly sheathed network and power cables snaking to it, the whole space reeked to him of someone trying to shoehorn in an organisation which did not fit: an advanced undertaking in ancient surroundings.
Square peg, round hole: wallowing in the past when they should be looking to the future.
At this time of night only a few desks were occupied, warm fluorescent tubes suspended from their metal supports illuminating mostly empty space. Only two other bodies kept him company: Victor Hilshire he recognised, the ex-detective seemingly having leveraged his earlier arrival on scene to acquire a much sought after desk by the courtyard windows and, toward the back of the room, another whom was unfamiliar.
He looked back at the screen: to be honest he was not getting anywhere, and the few hours sleep he had managed were not helping the issue... that would do for the night. The remainder he could finish up over the weekend, hopefully with something better to add. Saving the document he locked the workstation, what he could really use was a wind-down drink.
Standing, Danilo stretched again, this time with a little extra theatre to let his action be known to the world at large, before ambling toward Hilshire.
"It's the end of the week, do you want to go for a beer?"
Glancing up from the homework papers for marking piled neatly on his desk, the German studied his new companion. Frankly he really did not, and not with this man, but...
His eyes darted across the room momentarily before speaking, voice pitched just loud enough to carry. "Ok, I will join you for a drink. Michele? Do you want to join us too?"
The other man peered at his own monitor also, pausing to rub at an eye before answering. "I think a break would not do me badly at all, but it can't be for too long: I still need to finish up here... though if you're willing to fit in with that I can give you a lift there and back."
Perfect.
"I am sure we can manage something." Now Hilshire's attention returned to the handler beside his desk. "Did you have somewhere in mind?"
For the first time since he had seen him, a flash of unease passed over Olivetti's face. "I'm easy, where do you suggest?"
Schwachsinnige.
So this was Michele Pagani, Kara's handler: no wonder that cyborg's side of the room was so cluttered.
As the SWA's most recent addition to its ranks, Danilo found himself relegated for half an hour to the rear seat of a bright red Ferrari FF, suddenly feeling quite glad to have been saved the embarrassment of offering transport in his own non-super car. Unfolding now from that position, he took another moment to study again the man in question.
Michele he had found to be amicable and immaculately turned out, in what was revealed as a suit made to measure by Armani, the money which allowed him such extravagances also seemingly used to dote on his cyborg. While the latter Danilo couldn't help but feel inefficient and unnecessary, the Agency did give handlers reasonably free reign regards their girls'. Keeping in that spirit, he supposed he couldn't argue against the man operating as he wanted, so long as it did not spill over onto C. Raych from her roommate.
Which did not mean he had to approve either.
Finally extricating himself via the Ferrari's passenger door, Danilo waited for the vehicle's owner to push the front seat back into position and lock up, before following his companions across ancient cobbles toward the glowing lights of a local trattoria. Some hardy souls still remained in its awning-covered street seating, clustered around gas heaters, but the three handlers made a beeline for warmer surrounds.
Before entering however, Michele stopped the group and turned to their most recent addition. "One word of warning: this is a cyborg-free trattoria. The girls do not know about it, and for the sake of everyone's sanity we would ask it remain that way."
The statement was answered with a nod.
Inside was warm, lively and crowded with a heaving mass of humanity, from the town's children to its elderly and infirm, but the small SWA group managed to find a quiet table toward the establishment's rear, closely tailed by one of the wait staff. Sending the man away with orders, an awkward silence descended over the table until his return with drinks: a red wine, a beer and Campari and soda.
Taking a sip of Campari, Michele finally broke the ice. "So, how is... Raych?... settling in?"
Now it was Danilo's turn to sigh. "It's C. Raych, yes... and 'slowly'. You would think that, this far into the second generation, the medical department would be able to hand me over a more complete and competent unit."
"Well, I guess each girl is still something of a test bed."
"I thought the first generation was supposed to have been used to iron the worst problems out... Either way, it has made my life much more difficult regards C. Raych's training."
"I did see your email about pulling her from classes. Are you sure that is wise?"
The new handler turned his attention to his German counterpart. "An education is nice to have, but she was built to do a job, and she needs to be able to do that job before starting to spend time on luxuries. Besides, it is not like she will live long enough to use an education."
"An education is still important whether its precise learnings are used or not: it teaches one how to think, how to relate to others, and equips a knowledge base she can use to interact with outsiders on missions. Girls of Raych's age are expected to have a certain level of understanding of the world, and ensuring she has that understanding is just as important as any firearm."
"Not for the job she is doing. I was told the Agency wanted a combat fratello, pure and simple, and that is what I intend to give them. Should they want someone to interact deeply with the public, or go undercover to talk history and art, they need to find someone else."
"And teaching her how to think for herself?"
"She doesn't need to think for herself, she needs to follow orders," he took another swig of beer, "and she needs to be able to carry those orders out, and for that she needs to pass out on her VdCO, as a minimum, as quickly as possible."
Hilshire started to open his mouth, but Michele cut across him. "I remember trying to get Kara ready for her Verifica, I was probably almost as nervous as she was, though for slightly different reasons."
"Being?"
"If the cyborg fails her Verifica, she cannot re-examine for another fortnight. Prior to that, judgement on when she is ready for it, how long she works up for that first assessment etcetera, is made by her handler, and he is given reasonably free reign." Now the man's voice took on a more serious tone. "If she does fail however, the SWA will start taking a more active role, and it is also viewed as a first sign that the new hire may be underperforming."
"Not a pleasant position to be in," added Hilshire, apparently deciding to bury the previous dispute in the interests of civility.
Danilo gave the man a questioning look. "Speaking from experience?"
The German shook his head. "No, the VdCO was only implemented for the second generation girls: the first never needed to do one. Back then, when a cyborg was ready to be deployed was decided by her handler or by circumstance."
"That seems like leaving a lot of chances for problems and inconsistencies..."
"It did, but the girls are very distinct from each other then as well."
"...At least the standardised system for the gen twos gives a baseline to measure against, and weed out abnormalities before they become permanent."
Now Michele looked thoughtful. "Most, but not all second gens: at least one missed it... from what I understand, Monty never did a Verifica."
"Monty?"
Now the other handler leaned in and, consciously or otherwise, his voice lowered. "Monty Blacker, Jethro Blacker's girl."
"Monique... the obstacle course record holder?"
"Yes, our spyborg."
Now it was Hilshire's turn to lower his speech, eyes also glancing around the room, the occupants of which were fortunately pre-occupied, chatter filling the space. "They trialled the VdCO on Petra, it was meant to bring some standardisation and show the Agency was under control at a time when questions were being asked..."
"When they were looking for funding."
"...Michele is correct though: the Blackers never undertook the assessment. The official line was that it was mostly redundant in their role, unofficially though the SWA needed them deployed as soon as possible, so it was another case of circumstance dictating timeframe." Now the man leaned back again. "Every girl since then has required passing out though."
"Which is why I need C. Raych up to speed as quickly as possible, and not wasting time in a classroom." Danilo took another sip of his beer. "Whether there was any truth in the 'official' line or not, I took a look at what the VdCO entails, and it is all relevant to her intended role. Somehow I don't think she will be able to so easily slip through the net."
Silence descended again.
Finally, Michele looked across the table to his fellow Italian, expression questioning. "Indulge me a query: what does the 'C' stand for?"
"In C. Raych?"
"Yes."
"It stands for 'cyborg'... Have you ever ready any of Asimov's work, Michele?"
The other handler shook his head. "Only some of his Foundation series."
Danilo nodded, at least the man wasn't completely ignorant. "In his writings, Isaac Asimov's robots had their names prefixed with an "R-dot", to designate them as such and help differentiate them from humans. The 'C' serves a similar purpose."
Another pause.
"That seems somewhat... alienating..."
Michele said it slowly, metering out his words carefully lest he cause offence. Hilshire meanwhile had gone rigid, face annulled of expression, but the third handler simply shrugged. "Well, yes. They are not, after all, exactly human."
"But they are not robots either." The German's tone was hard. "Each girl still has a human brain: she feels like a human does and behaves as a human would..."
"Except for where she is programmed not to."
"...as far as her conditioning will allow. They are, for all intents and purposes, human."
Danilo gave his head a little shake. "No, they are not. They can run faster, leap higher, move quicker, see and hear things that a human cannot. They are barred free will and a full range of emotion: that is not humanity, and they should not be degraded by everyone trying to make-believe that it is."
"And they should also not be subordinated as some form of lesser being."
Michele nodded. "I agree with Victor: I've seen Kara laugh and cry, I've seen her jubilant and terrified..."
"Triela is the same: she's just an ordinary girl. She can shoot, she can lift half a tonne or throw a grown man around like a rag doll, but underneath it all she is an ordinary girl."
"And yet those are not things an ordinary human can do, surely you will agree that much... and I am not calling them 'robots', but I think the distinction between cyborg and human should, in fairness, be made." The bald headed handler took another sip at his beer before looking again at his two companions. "Perhaps this would be easier if you had read more of Asimov's works. For the greater part, his robots are not written as inhumane: they can portray some emotion and feeling and they are able to serve mankind with dignity, but they are not inferior, at least by Asimov's words, and by making the distinction also, I am not suggesting that the cyborgs are inferior. However, the fact remains that they were created to serve, to fight, to follow orders and do the bidding of their masters, and they should be afforded the grace of being allowed to do so with the dignity they deserve: not be relegated to the level of a human slave, bound to do his master's bidding by inferiority and threat alone."
"And so for the few years they have left we should rob the girls of their last shreds of humanity? We should tell them that they fit in nowhere? That seems a little cruel." Hilshire's tone remained hard to its core, but the sharp edges had gone. "They still identify themselves as human."
"Then they should be taught differently. There is no use having them attempt to be something they are not, and they do fit in somewhere: they fit in with those who created them and with whom they were created... that's more than many can claim. There is no point to pining away in hope over a life which they cannot expect to lead, particularly when there's one right here ready for them."
Another halt in conversation, the room's buzz sliding in to fill the gap. Finally...
"Everyone needs to be able to put hope in something." Michele's voice was quiet.
"Then it should be aimed at something attainable that they can put their efforts behind and try to make a reality, not in fairy stories and false dreams. They should remember what they are, accept it, make the most of it and be proud of it. It should be allowed to shape their view of the world around them and shape their lives. There is nothing wrong with, or to be ashamed of, in the roles they have been built for."
On the other side of the table, Hilshire drew a deep breath, letting it out again slowly before looking once more across the space. "I see your argument Danilo, and I cannot say I agree with it, and I am afraid it may be one viewpoint we will continue to disagree on. I also fear you may have trouble finding many others at the Agency, at least those having had dealings with our girls, who will be able to understand your perspective."
The discussion's other contender seemed ready to say something more, but again Michele interrupted. "Do you follow the F1 at all Danilo?"
There was a pause while the table's two other occupants changed mental tack.
"A little. Why?"
"What do you think of this year's rule changes?"
"Well..."
Internally, Victor Hilshire gave a groan: obviously this was not going to be his night.
Darkness, and warm comfort. Those were what Raych felt: a far cry from the freezing cold and exhaustion searing her memories of the day. It had been a long and painful day at times too and, having been dropped back at the cyborg dorm, she had just barely managed to get herself through the showers and wash the mud off before collapsing into bed. Somewhere her soiled clothes and towel, used to protect Danilo's rear seat, had been dumped. She couldn't remember where. She would need to find them later, and clean them... but for now.
Someone was calling her name.
Swimming up through the depths of semi-consciousness, she followed the voice. Honestly she just wished it would go away and leave her to wallow in the soft mattress and blankets' fluffy embrace.
"Raych? Raych?"
Eyes snapped open to find Kara knelt down by the side of her bed, one arm gently shaking her shoulder.
"Mmm?"
"It's ten at night. Weren't you meant to be somewhere? Like, hours ago?"
Was she?
Oh no.
The girl's whole body jerked, trying to sit up, but she was held in place by the gentle but firm grasp of her roommate. "Too late now..."
Raych's mouth worked, words failing to form.
"Don't worry about it, I've already seen Henrietta, but you may owe her an apology..."
This had not been her best day ever.