MEANWHILE IN ITALY

A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.

Thanks to Kiskaloo for the continued loan of Michele and Kara.

CH10 – Dog

Studying stubby fingers under her cool desk lamp, Raych picked at a nail, trying to dislodge some imagined piece of grit. Normally, at this time of the day, she would be training, or just back from training, or in Danilo's car returning from training, but Danilo was not here. So there was no training. He had gone, and now... now she did not know what to do with herself.

He had gone without her.

There had been no warning, just a curt mention the previous evening that he would be away over Christmas. No instructions on what to do with herself in the meantime, no explanation... no invitation to accompany him, just a statement of fact.

Why had he left her? She had earned her VdCO had she not, earned permission to leave campus with him, so why had he not taken her? Had she disappointed him? She had not done anything on the safe house raid, on her first mission, her only mission. She had not killed for him: Henrietta had added three to her score that day. Was Danilo ashamed of her? She wanted to make him proud, but how was she supposed to make him proud now?

She had been told earning her VdCO was her pass for leaving campus, to being useful to Danilo... but, if she was not allowed to fight, and if Danilo would not take her with him, then what was the point of having it?

She would have to make him proud some other way, but right now she had nothing left to do. She had cleaned her gun until it was spotless, and he had given her another one too, an Israeli Micro Tavor, so he could not be completely disappointed with her, could he? But that still had to stay at the armoury, so maybe she was not worthy of it yet. He had left the manual though, and she had read it cover to cover until she was sure to know the rifle's workings by heart, she had done her washing... what else was she supposed to do?

From the room's entry came the clack of a latch, and the girl spun around on her seat as Kara slouched in.

"Good evening, Kara."

Without stopping to so much as take off her boots, the elder cyborg flopped down on her bed, back first, legs bouncing skyward to land on the soft duvet, causing it to leap up around them. So positioned, she let out a long sigh.

Raych tried again. "Umm, are you ok? I, umm, I thought you were going away."

Another sigh. "That's what I thought too, but no: guess who landed duty fratello over the holidays."

"Umm, who?"

"Me... and Michele."

"But, that is okay is it not?"

"No, it isn't. We shouldn't be on Christmas duty."

There was a pause.

"But that is, I mean..." Raych looked hopeful, "...I mean, you do still get to spend Christmas together..."

"But I don't want to spend it here."

Kara rolled her head over to eye her roommate, attempting to sort out words in her mind. It was true: she did still get to spend Christmas with Michele but... how could she explain that it wasn't just the being together for the holiday, but also the chance to do so with no distractions, no interruptions, to feel that she truly had her handler to herself, even for just a day. To get away from the compound was a luxury she always looked forward to, the chance to feel special.

The other girl was still talking though. "...I mean, so long as you are together it is fine isn't it? I mean, Henrietta and Rico are in Sicily, but Triela is in Naples with Mr. Hilshire on a mission. I am sure she is still happy that Mr. Hilshire is there," she looked down at the floor now, "I mean, you still get to spend time with Mr. Pagani."

And of course, spending time with her handler was an experience Raych had never enjoyed and, by the looks of things, never would.

Into the feelings of disappointment and anger was sown a seed of guilt, forcing Kara's other thoughts down under the sudden weight of understanding: still there, but now at least contained.

Compared to some, she was very lucky indeed.

"Umm... don't worry, Raych. I'm sure Mr. Olivetti will... come back to visit. Plenty of other handlers come to visit over Christmas."

The other girl shook her head. "Danilo said not until the New Year..."

Oh.

"...I do not think he likes me, Kara."

"Don't say things like that..." The words had left the Asian girl's lips before she could stop them: now she had to find some means by which to back them up, and that was difficult when all she wished to do right now was rail at the world as well. "It might not be... it might not be his fault you know. He might... he might have other things he needs to attend to, at Christmas time."

Raych's eyes were hopeless. "Other than here?"

"Well, he might have... family, that he needs to visit, and the Agency is pretty strict about what handlers can and can't do off campus with their cyborgs."

"But... you get to go to Milan."

Kara managed to pull a thin smile at that. "Not this year I don't."

Seeping its way through high windows, soft sunlight endowed the handlers' office with a warm glow, catching dust motes in golden beams as it lanced through the airy space. Though only mid-afternoon, the tall room lay dormant, a solitary figure sitting amongst crisscross shadows cast from wood caissons and cable runs snaking up to the suspended steel lattice above. Uttering a sigh, Michele Pagani leaned back in his chair, unfastening the last button on his crisp suit jacket to lay back a little further.

On the scarred timber desk his computer blinged, informing him he had mail. He left it.

Well, that had gone better than anticipated.

He had not expected Kara to take the news of their pulling duty fratello well, which was why he had perhaps not told the whole truth, but she had squared her shoulders and borne up with only minimal complaint to him. Perhaps it was a sign she was growing up.

With that thought, he glanced at the neat but currently empty workspace facing his, sandwiched between filing cabinets and ancient wooden bookshelves, and pulled a wry smile: somehow he doubted particular members of the Agency would share that view.

"What has you so happy?"

Managing to prevent himself from starting at the unexpected voice, the handler let his chair rock upright before spinning around to face an approaching Ferro, Priscilla following in her wake, cradling a low pile of folders. Coming to a halt, the short haired and suit adorned support manager rested against the next desk over.

"Thank you for taking duty fratello over the break too."

Michele shook his head. "Don't thank me; thank Bianchi for asking that I keep an eye on Raych."

"Have you told Kara?"

"Yes, but not that I volunteered for it."

Now however, Priscilla's expression was questioning. "You were asked to keep an eye on Raych?"

"I was."

"Why?"

The handler paused, trying to find the least negative spin to put on his next words. "I... think it would not be unfair to say Olivetti is possibly one of the less... compassionate... handlers..."

That brought a slightly darker expression to the intelligence superintendent's face.

"...and Fernando is feeling some concern over how Raych is coping with that emotionally, particularly after her first mission. From what he's saying, she's still having trouble finding a way to relate..." Michele hid his own grimace as he spoke those words: the first few months were always tough for any fratello, as handler and cyborg found their respective places in the relationship, Kara had been no different. In this case however, the trouble all seemed flow one direction. "...The good Doctor doesn't feel he has anything critical enough to approach Olivetti directly, nor take the issue up with Jean, so he's watching. With the her handler away for the holiday period though, he is worried how any sense of abandonment Raych might be feeling could add to the mix, and wanted someone to quietly monitor her."

"And since his cyborg shares the same room, that makes Michele the least intrusive option," finished Ferro, "which made my life easier sorting the holiday duty roster... and also means we now don't need to haul you back from Milan or somewhere farther afield."

The handler's eyebrows rose. "Oh?"

"I forwarded you an email. It's bounced from Lorenzo's inbox, to Jean's to mine but, as it's direct from the Prime Minister's office, it was probably going to wind up on your desk eventually anyway."

"And what does Renato want with me at this time of year?"

Now it was Priscilla's turn to step forward, handing over a manila folder. "I assume you've heard of a parliamentarian called Concino Gnocchi-Viani by now?"

"I've heard a lot of complaining from Renato."

The analyst nodded. "Unsurprising; he's an opportunist from one of the minor coalition parties, one whom likes to throw his weight around publicly, so there's no doubt in the media as to how truly independent he actually is. That would be fine if he were not doing so, possibly by intent, in a manner likely to uncover some of the government's... dirtier... secrets if allowed to go too far."

"Like us."

"Yes, like us," chimed in Ferro. "We were requested to handle his termination a few months back, but so far we've not been able to pull together a viable operation."

"Part of that is because Signor Gnocchi-Viani has not made himself overly popular with the Separatists either, so his daily routine is thoroughly locked down security wise." Now Priscilla flashed the seated man a cheeky smile. "I do, however, understand that your old school chum likes to hold a bit of a do about this time of year, so everyone can pretend that they like each other."

Michele nodded at that, mentally grimacing: her assessment had not been far off the mark. The Prime Minister's Christmas Eve Gala was a staged show of goodwill and peace to all men, and women, from all sides of politics, where they could smile woodenly for the cameras: of course it was all just party lines between them, nothing personal at all. Fortunately for everyone else involved, the tense posturing did not diminish the engagement for that remainder just there to have a good time.

"As a courtesy, the PM's office sends us a guest list through for all events, and guess who is attending?"

"Well he sort of has to," the answer's tone was bemused, "it is considered bad form to turn the invitation down."

Now Ferro pinned him with a quizzical look. "You're not going, it was mentioned that you also were asked to attend."

"Yes, but I'm not a sitting member of Parliament. Where is it this year? I didn't really check."

Priscilla looked at her own folder. "The St. Regis, Rome. Most guests are staying on, though I believe Prime Minister Pisano has his own after party."

"With that in mind, we noted that there may be opportunity to liquidate Gnocchi-Viani. The PM agreed... so long as we don't interrupt the Gala itself, and it was hinted we may want to help provide some extra security if we intend to tag along," continued Ferro, bringing the conversation back on track. "Jean is already on his way back from Sicily, and he's bringing Jose, Rico and Henrietta with him, but it wouldn't hurt to get a head start."

"I've got those boys and girls I can spare digging up whatever useful information they can," put in the SWA's intelligence head. "It's early days right now, but so far we know Concino and his wife will be staying in the Reggie's Royal Suite after the event itself."

Picking up his folder again, Michele ran a thumb across the pages' edges, letting the sheets flutter past. "We're probably going to need a few more than just Kara and myself."

"Well Jean and Jose will be back, so that makes three."

"Gaetano's probably close by as well," Priscilla looked between her compatriots, "he's usually happy to take the holiday jobs."

"There tend to be a few volunteers to be found, but it would probably be worth getting some more planning done before ruining anyone else's Christmas," cautioned the handler. "Medical support?"

"I'll hold off calling in the medical staff just yet..." pausing, Ferro then nodded to the empty desk facing Michele, "...the Blackers are due through in the next week or so, so they're on call for Monty's service when she arrives anyway."

"If those two get here on time it would be nice to take them along." Looking at the folder in his hands again, the sole fratello member present slapped its cover. "How far off is Jean?"

"At last half a day, so he and Jose will arrive late tonight at best, did you want to get familiar with what we have first?"

"Yes, that would be appreciated. Re-convene in an hour or two... but I guess I'm going to be accepting Renato's invitation after all."

"I guess you are," Ferro sighed, "and I guess I had best find a replacement duty fratello."

Sitting cross legged on her bed, Raych looked glumly at the scene spread out before her. She did not dare move to the floor for fear of treading on something expensive, as Kara's packing had now taken over that surface also, her own bunk occupied by an evening gown laid carefully across the covers. On the carpet, two brown leather suitcases stood open as their owner transferred item after item into gaping maws from the arrayed choices, occasionally leaping up to add something else to the contents. Her friend really did have a lot of stuff, all Raych's possessions probably could have fit into the smaller bag… with room to spare. Not that she was ungrateful to Danilo, not at all, she had everything she needed, but…

"That is a very nice dress, Kara."

Pausing, a pair of red soled high heels in one hand, the Asian featured girl glanced at the shimmering fabric laid across her duvet, then back at her watching companion. "Oh, yes… it's by Sophia Victoria, Michele had it made for me last year," now she pulled a face, "I would really prefer to have something new, but there's been no time, turning an order around in two days just isn't going to happen, not at this time of year."

The shoes were set atop soft leather boots, their undersides splashed in the same scarlet shade. First Danilo, and now Kara was leaving too: no-one was going to stay with her. Triela was gone also, what was she going to do without them here?

"When are you going to be back?"

Placing two flat toiletries bags atop her clothes, Kara did up the suitcase's internal straps to hold its contents firm and closed the lid, pressing down hard to help seal tight zippers. She hoped that was everything, it should be everything.

"Well, the Gala's tonight, but we'll probably not be back here until the twenty-sixth at least. Our target isn't due to check out until then, so there's no earlier window…" she turned, halting as Raych somehow managed to look even more dejected, "…oh don't worry, you're not going to be alone: Marisa's still here, so is Allison, Soni, Gattonero, Petra will probably be back…"

"But… I don't really know any of them."

"You know Mari and Allison."

"But their handlers will come and pick them up…" Now the other girl looked down, hands dry-washing before her. "… and they don't come to talk to me, not like you and Triela, you come to talk to me."

Giving an internal sigh, Kara studied the steadily shrinking girl sat on the bed opposite, and sent her an encouraging smile. Baby steps.

"Well, maybe you should try and talk to them?"

Any reply Raych may have wished to make was cut short by a knock from the corridor, followed a moment later by Michele's voice. "Kara, are you ready?"

"Yes, almost!"

With those words, Kara dove for her cupboard again as her handler swung the door open, a wrapped package under one arm. Re-emerging with her pistol case, the girl took the package with her free hand and stepped toward her roommate, holding it out.

"This is from both of us. Merry Christmas, Raych."

"Normally we would bring them on Christmas morning," added Michele, "so don't open it until tomorrow, when all the others open theirs."

Tentatively, Raych took the package, crisp red and gold wrapping crackling as she did so. "Umm, thank you, thank you very much, Mr. Pagani, Kara, but..."

"No buts."

"...but, I did not get you anything."

At that, Kara flashed the newer cyborg a smile. "Don't worry about it, Christmas is about giving."

"But..."

"But nothing. If it's really worrying you that much, do something next year, once you're out and about."

"Okay, umm, thank you, then..."

Now however Michele looked pointedly at his watch, before stepping forward to pick up his cyborg's dress from her bed, carefully lifting it so as to keep the delicate fabric un-disturbed. "Come on Kara, we need to move if you intend on having time to get ready in Rome."

"Yes, Michele." Lifting both groaning suitcases easily, the girl turned to her roommate. "Merry Christmas, Raych."

"Good luck, Kara."

Closing the door as she departed, Kara followed behind her handler, heading toward the stairs to ground. It wasn't until they were one storey down that she finally opened her mouth to speak quietly.

"Do you think she'll be okay?"

There was a pause as the man ahead seemed to think, before sending her back an encouraging smile. "I think she will be. Triela's not here, but Priscilla is doing Christmas morning, and she will make sure Raych isn't left out."

The girl nodded: if any person would make sure her friend was included, it was Priscilla.

Another storey and two more flights of stairs passed quickly, depositing the fratello into the late-morning sunlight of a beautifully clear winter's day. On the road beneath the dorm's fronting colonnade was parked the gleaming red form of her handler's Ferrari FF, waiting to whisk them north: seemingly he had been expecting her to pack heavy. Beside it though, dwarfed by the super-GT's bulk, sat a small, slightly scruffy Alfa Romeo hatchback, wearing the angular lines of the 1980s, a pair of yellow driving lights affixed to its square snout.

So, Chiara was leaving now too.

As they descended to the roadway, her eyes picked out an older man bending down to lift a small nylon trolley case into the car's rear, before shutting it with a thud.

A few steps farther on, Kara could also see the short-haired generation one girl whom he now crouched down to talk to, stretching the fabric of a well constructed, but now dated and slightly threadbare suit. At the click of the FF's boot releasing however, he ceased the discussion to glance over, standing back up to address the newcomers. "Pagani, Kara."

"Good morning, Mr. Manfredi. Good morning, Chiara."

"Gaetano..." Michele lifted his own car's rear hatch, "...you're leaving early."

"We might not have a fancy dance to go to, but I still wouldn't mind a few hours on the ground. It's been a while since I visited around Castro Pretorio, and I would like the chance to walk the streets a little first."

"There were observation points and exit routes set out during planning, you have the satellite photos."

That earned a low, somewhat derogatory noise. "With all due respect to your computers: planning on a screen is still no substitute for actually putting pavement beneath your soles."

By now Chiara, sporting a skirt and short leather jacket, had moved next to her handler, and Michele's attention shifted briefly, before changing conversations. "Has Jose gone yet?"

"Olga took him to go pick up the op-vehicle."

"Henrietta's still here though," chimed in the smaller cyborg, as her guardian laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I would say he'll be a bit longer yet then. Which way were you headed out?"

At that, Michele glanced at his watch, and then at his own charge. "If we're going to reach Rome on schedule, probably straight up the A1."

"We'll loop inland through Sora and Rieti then, though if we're doing that we had best make tracks too... come on, Chiara." He nodded to the other fratello. "Good luck Pagani, hopefully we won't see you until after Christmas."

"Likewise, something will have gone very wrong if you do. Stay safe."

Edging around her handler to the Ferrari's boot, Kara shifted his bag to one side, along with a carbon fibre bassoon case serving as transport and camouflage for her rifle as, behind her, the Alfa 33's raucous boxer engine burst to life with a flare of revs and crackle of unburnt fuel. Glancing up briefly, she saw Michele lean in through the passenger door to hang the dress beside his already suspended tuxedo, leaving her to continue loading. As she set her larger luggage to rest on soft carpet, she hid a small smile. Perhaps Raych had been right: mission or no, it appeared as if she would be getting time with her handler after all.

Floor cleared of arrayed clothes and bags, Raych had felt it once more safe to depart the perch of her bed. Now she sat at her desk, chin resting on crossed arms, Kara's package before her. It was oddly shaped, not a box, but someone had taken great care to wrap it neatly. The pretty red paper, with its golden bells and trees, was left un-creased, the retaining sticky tape pressed firmly down.

Carefully, she poked the wrapping with a finger, feeling it give under her touch. Whatever was in there was something soft. She wanted to know what it was, but Mr. Pagani had told her not to open it until tomorrow. Tomorrow, with the others... had they been given gifts also? Did other handlers give gifts to their cyborgs? Would Danilo give her something? She hoped he would, any gift from Danilo was sure to be amazing.

She poked at the package again. It made her feel... happy, she was happy: happy to be thought of, happy to be included. She was grateful to Kara for the gift, to Mr. Pagani. She should have got them something in return, she should have got Danilo something, she should have... but how was she supposed to do that if Danilo would not take her off campus?

"Do something next year, once you're out and about."

Raych's shoulders slumped. She really was useless wasn't she? She wasn't allowed to fight on missions, Danilo would not take her outside... what good was having her VdCO if she could not do those things? She was still not good enough yet.

Maybe that could be her present to Danilo, to become good enough.

Looking back at the gift on her table, the girl smiled again: that was what she would do. For now though, she was just delighted to have been thought of.

Reaching forward, she prodded the package once more.

A loud rapping at her door awoke Raych with a start. Sunlight was streaming through her window: cool light, morning light.

She must have gone to sleep, she must have overslept, Danilo would be furious! How long had she been here? Since last night? She hadn't wanted to go to dinner, she must have slept right though.

The knock came again.

No, it wasn't an urgent pounding, it was polite...

"Come on Raych, rise and shine!"

...and the voice was bright, female. That was not Danilo.

Of course, it was the Christmas holidays, Danilo was away.

Disappointment tempered the relief that she was not in trouble but, standing, the girl moved across her otherwise deserted room, Kara's neatly made bunk looking very empty indeed, and pulled open the door.

Outside stood Priscilla. "Merry Christmas sleepy head, come on, everyone else is waiting."

Everyone else was waiting for what?

"Yes, Priscilla."

As Raych started to close up behind herself, the intelligence superintendent suddenly dashed forward, squeezing around the startled girl and into the space beyond. Collecting the package Kara and Michele had left she inspected it briefly, before retreating to the corridor, thrusting it into her temporary charge's hands.

"Mustn't forget that!"

Following behind, one timid cyborg let herself be towed along in the woman's wake, along the corridor and down stairs, heavy boots' impact muffled by thick carpet. She still had no idea what was going on. Why did she need to leave her room? She could have opened that package easily without needing to move; but she liked Priscilla, and if Priscilla said she should take the package somewhere else, then she should take the package somewhere else.

Coming to the base of the stairs, Raych paused, drinking in the scene arrayed before her: tinsel hung from ceiling beams, spreading out from above the living Christmas tree, small lights glowing within its green branches. There were other cyborgs there too, those whose handlers had not taken them elsewhere or lacked a mission right at this moment, each holding her own package, or with a stack of packages, all seated around the building's small foyer. There were a smattering of gen one girls amongst the number, but the majority consisted of gen twos, presided over by a tall, craggy-featured woman, leaning against the entryway frame.

She looked stern.

Motioning to the unfamiliar presence, Priscilla turned to her current charge. "Raych, this is Olga, one of our support staff. Olga, this is Raych, the one I was talking about the other day."

Behind her adult friend, the cyborg cowered back, but the big lady knelt down, flashing a smile. "It is nice to meet, Merry Christmas."

"Umm, Merry... Christmas."

Her present crackled as she hugged it closer her chest, crushing the paper, before she felt the pressure of someone's hand on her back.

"Take a seat somewhere sweetness."

Looking desperately around the room for a friendly face, Raych chose the nearest solution, and slumped down next to Rico, somehow finding the uncomfortable transition point between cold flagstones and carpet. With Triela and Henrietta both deployed, the little blonde sat on her own, Claes having managed to distance herself from the group, even in the now over-full space and, as the older girl made herself comfortable as possible, she was rewarded with a beaming smile.

"Hi Raych, Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Rico."

"You got a present from Mr. Pagani too?"

At that, the gen two glanced down. Rico also had a package before her, also bound in red and gold paper, just like hers. As Priscilla started to speak from the base of the stairs, voice floating across the crowd, Raych's eyes scanned around the room. Even girls with more than one gift, perhaps from their handlers, or each other, had something hidden within that same red and gold pattern.

Rico leaned over, voice dropping to a whisper. "Mr. Pagani gets everyone a present every year, he's nice like that."

That was nice of him. She did need to thank Kara and Mr. Pagani properly. She just was not certain how.

By the stairs, Priscilla's speech was coming to an end. "So, Merry Christmas everyone."

Her younger companion whispered again. "You can open it now, Raych."

Turning her gift over in cautious hands, she carefully started to pick at the tape securing one end, peeling it away slowly to avoid ripping the paper beneath and setting each strip aside. As the last piece fell away, she unfolded the wrapping to find herself looking into two glass eyes behind a black, embroidered, nose. Reaching in, Raych slid the white, stuffed dog out, turning it over in her hands, before stopping so she could once more look at its face. It was a friendly face, alert and curious with short ears standing above it.

"Are you going to name him?"

"Huh?"

Rico was leaning over to look at the toy, her own hands holding a slender volume with a brightly illustrated cover. On it stood two men in metal helmets: one short with long moustaches, and the other large in blue and white striped trousers which left his chest bare, carrying an equally large pointed rock.

"Are you going to name him?" Rico pointed at the dog. "Triela names all her bears, I think you should name him."

Raych's eyes fell again to the toy in her hands: name him... what was she supposed to name him? Could Danilo tell her? But Danilo was not here, and Rico was right: it would not be fair to leave him without a name. It was really thoughtful of Mr. Pagani and Kara to get her this...

"Hey, what did you get?"

Glancing up, she found two more second gens standing over her: one with freckles behind another, sporting a big grin below her messy black mop of hair. Fleccia, she thought, and Gattonero. Watching as the pair flopped down onto the floor as well, Raych turned the dog around.

"Oooh, he's really cute. You should name him."

Now the freckled red-head leaned around her companion. "He's white as snow, maybe 'Snowy'?"

"Mr. Pagani gave him to me."

"Yeah, Mr. Pagani gives everyone something, I got..."

As the other girl talked, attention flitting between the three around her, Raych looked back down at the dog. She still couldn't think of anything to call him but, when she thought about it, was that really so important right now? She was happy, happy to have people around, and happy to be able to share what she had been given. Kara had said she needed to talk to the others, perhaps giving was not the point so much as sharing... she really would have to thank Kara, and Mr. Pagani. Thank them for giving her some reason to talk, some way to be included. Hopefully they were having a good day too.

Still silent as conversation flowed around her, Raych pressed a finger onto the stuffed toy's nose.

"For now, you can just be 'Dog'."

Gattonero's head turned her direction. "What was that?"

"Nothing. I was just... thinking."

That was met with a shrug. "Eh. Come on, let's go see what's on for breakfast, I'm starving."

Stifling a yawn, Kara shuffled her seat around to a different position and pulled her heavy jacket tighter as defence against winter's chill, streaming in through the room's cracked open window. Comfortable again, at least for another few minutes, she leaned forward to reseat the DSR-1 Subsonic's stock into her shoulder, once more picking up the St Regis' Royal Suite private entrance, cast now in afternoon shadow, through its scope. Unfortunately as vantage points went, this apartment, separated from the target area by a car park and two lines of trees to look over and through, was not ideal. That the viewing angle it gave meant she could see little beyond the corridor's closer end was not helping matters either. However on short notice it was all that could be found, and she and Michele had done as best they could in locating her shooter's position to make the most of what minimal view they were afforded. To that intention, plush lounge room furniture had been pushed away to one side, the kitchen table instead taking its place in the space's centre, well back and out of sight of the street below.

At that thought, the girl glanced sideways to the second chair, set behind an expensive spotter's optic. Michele wasn't here right now, but they still had an hour or so before Concino Gnocchi-Viani and his wife Maria were due to leave, taking advantage of that most expensive suite's facilities to make a secure and low-key exit. This time however, it sounded like the member's paranoia would be working against him...

But that was in the future. For now, things were still.

Kara squirmed slightly as, somewhere far off in the city, a siren howled.

Adjusting her sight angle again slightly, the cyborg moved the rifle so its scope also picked up a scarlet-clad figure, standing at parade rest just inside the entrance's bronzed arch: Chiara, dressed in the gold trimmed Nehru jacket and round cap of a hotel porter. The slender generation one had drawn point for this phase of the mission, taking over from Kara after the gala and its associated proceedings had finished: the formal, black-tie, Christmas Eve event itself, and a more low-key and casual breakfast the following morning.

The watching girl smiled at that. It had been a good two days: Michele had looked dashing in his tuxedo, she felt she had played her role well on his arm for the evening and, working or no, she had been allowed at least some chance to just enjoy the moment. It would be nice if she could have more missions of that nature, and she would have liked to follow it through to the end. However, in fairness, Chiara had spent those same hours shivering in her handler's car as they kept an eye on this side entrance, not even afforded the warmth of the lobby it had been Henrietta's job to cover.

Besides, Kara was a better sniper than the other two, which made her the natural choice to carry the overwatch.

That didn't mean she did not wish to be back on the ballroom floor though.

From behind came the clack of a door-latch retreating, and she started to turn, hand leaving the rifle to grasp for her pistol, laying on the table amongst the other detritus produced by an operation such as this. It was only for a second though and, as Michele stepped into the lounge, she settled back on to the stock of her primary firearm.

"Any movement?"

"No, not yet," her eye never left the sight, "even if there was, Mr. Croce and Mr. Manfredi are not due for almost another half hour yet."

"True, but if Gnocchi-Viani decides to leave early, I don't want to have him waiting." There was a tap as something was placed on the table beside her. "That's for you."

"Is it coffee?"

That drew a soft chuckle. "No, not until we're done. The last thing we need is for you to develop a jittery trigger finger."

There was a swish of something being pulled across carpet, and the cyborg felt the table settle slightly as her handler rested his own weight on it. She could mentally picture him now: leaning forward, eye pressed to his own optic, sipping at whatever warm drink he had brought.

Minutes ticked by, slowly, as shadows lengthened outside, more sirens joining the city's chorus, mingling with the drone of traffic filtering in from outside.

Suddenly the stillness was shattered by a phone's buzz, causing the cyborg to start, glancing over to where her handler was already raising his mobile.

"It's Jean, probably wants to know where we're up to."

Sliding his chair back again, the man placed the device to his ear, heading for the exit.

"Good afternoon Jean, I presume..."

The rest was cut off by the door closing behind him.

Kara looked at her own phone, also laying on the table: they did not have long until their targets were supposed to be leaving, it seemed like an odd time for Jean to call for a situation report. Of all people, the field commander knew not to interrupt once an operation entered its most critical phases, so: why?

She didn't need to wait long for her answer.

The door banged shut again, and she heard her handler walk quickly to her position, scratching around on the table top as he retrieved something, talking to her at the same time. "New orders Kara: you are not to engage unless absolutely necessary. You are not to take our marks unless they look like escaping, or our own people are in immediate danger. Is that clear?"

"Uhh..." there was a momentary pause, "...yes, Michele."

"Good," there was the click of a radio being keyed, "Orion, Ronin... Zero Alpha. New orders: Monza Two is instructed to hold fire unless absolutely necessary. The marks are yours."

Two affirmatives rasped back across the airwaves before Kara spoke again, eye still not leaving her scope. "Why?"

By way of explanation she heard the television switch on, snippets of conversation fading in and out as Michele flicked through channels, finally settling on the news, a female reporter's voice filling the room.

"...in Testaccio at the scene of the shooting. Only one victim has been reported, though police are yet to release an identity..."

The report was turned down to a bare murmur.

"There was a shooting in Testaccio, a sniper. That last information hasn't been made public yet as it's still being confirmed, but the politicians won't want to risk inciting panic by potentially creating a similar incident in a different part of the city, at least that's the assumption Jean and Lorenzo are making right now."

"And so I'm to hold fire?"

"Better safe than sorry, but don't let things get out of hand either. If you think you have to take a shot, if it looks like things may go awry down there, do so. You will need to make your own judgement; I'm not going to have time to tell you."

"Yes, Michele."

Under the cover of her rifle's cheek piece, Kara smiled.

"...has been ordered to hold off, so don't worry so much about getting in her way any more. Cough once if you understand."

Listening to her handler's voice through the almost invisible ear piece, Chiara did as instructed, feeling the borrowed uniform's high collar rub against her throat.

"Good, we will be there shortly. Ronin One, out.

She wanted to tug at it the starchy fabric, loosen it, but to do that would be to break character. Instead the cyborg wiggled her toes again, trying to regain some feeling: she did not envy those who had to do this every day of their lives. She had met some of them, others wearing the porters' uniform, actual hotel employees, whom had deposited a collection of suitcases and bags beside her. They had asked questions, and she had answered in as perfunctory a manner as she could: "Are you new?" "Yes." "What's your name?" "Fiore." "How old are you?" "Sixteen." "You don't look sixteen... What shift are you on?" "It's cold isn't it?" "You should buy a thermal under-shirt, the camping shops sell good ones... Give us a hand could you?"

That last request was one she had not fulfilled, one she could not have even if she wanted to. Her Beretta 92 Compact, form lengthened by a suppressor screwed to its muzzle, extended far enough down her leg that it risked printing should she move... and she was wearing a thermal, but it had ceased to be of any help hours ago. Glancing right she looked out: past the little cobbled driveway, through the line of trees separating it from the road proper, and out across the sunlit car park beyond. She wished she were out there instead of in this dingy corridor, minding bags and waiting for the lift cage at its far end to rattle.

Another minute passed, at least, she thought it was a minute... she couldn't look at her watch.

Finally there was the thud of tyres on cobbles and rumbling approach of an engine as a large, black four wheel drive pulled off the street outside, riding heavily on its suspension, massive bulk ironing out the bumpy transition. Rolling to a halt close on the corridor's entrance, blocking the view outside, the Land Rover Discovery's driver left its engine running, while from behind the passenger door's blacked out, bullet-resistant glazing, stepped Gaetano, wearing a sharply cut suit. The telltale twisting cable of a radio earpiece ran up from his collar, looping around behind weather-beaten features, and he stepped past the waiting girl, giving her a nod as he went, before lifting two items of luggage and carrying them to be stowed in the car's rear. Two more followed, and two more, quickly whittling the pile away to nothing.

Closing the tailgate, her handler, now playing guard, returned to the Land Rover's corridor-facing flank, standing by its rear passenger door to wait.

And wait.

He glanced at his watch. "They're late."

The voice was low, pitched for himself and Chiara only, and she was about to reply when the lift rattled. That was her cue. With one last glance at her guardian, the girl walked quickly to position herself by its door, careful to keep her gun-side turned away. As the car ground to a halt, she hauled back the cage's outer and inner gates.

Out stepped a heavy-set man, dress mimicking Gaetano's, and wearing a similar earpiece. One hand inside his jacket, he scanned the area until, apparently content, he motioned for the two shadowy figures still occupying the elevator's interior to exit. Both were tall, probably in their mid or late fifties, her handler's age, the woman holding a bag from which protruded the head of a small, black, dog.

It growled at her.

The cyborg put on her best smile. "Good afternoon, Signor Gnocchi-Viani, Signora Gnocchi-Viani. We hope you enjoyed your stay and have a pleasant journey."

She received no reply beyond a supercilious glance as both turned to follow in their guard's wake. That was fine by Chiara. As they moved on she fell in behind, carried by noiseless feet, drawing her pistol, lifting it high to clear the suppressor.

The corridor was not long, maybe six metres, not much time: take the mark first.

Dashing two silent steps forward she reached up, clamping one hand over his mouth to ram the suppressor's snout into his back with the other.

Two shots.

Concino Gnocchi-Viani was already falling before his bodyguard registered what was happening, and Chiara let the member go, swinging around to engage his ostensible protector, using cybernetic strength to pin him against stone walls. Arm trapped against muscled chest, he had no time to recover before two more rounds rose up through his torso.

One more to go, but how far had the woman gotten?

That question was answered quickly. From the corridor entrance came a stifled scream, cut off as Gaetano dropped his own bodyguard cover, crash-tackling their final target back out of sight of the street, Henrietta exploding from the Discovery's rear door as he did so, P90 already up. Moving quickly, the little brunette put two suppressed shots into the prone woman's head.

The handler was already lifting himself from the ground, earpiece dislodged and swinging from its cord. "Henrietta, help me with this one. Chiara, bring those other two this way!"

"Yes, sir!"

Holstering her pistol again, Chiara bent down to get arms under the elder man's lifeless form, dragging it bodily toward the waiting vehicle. She was almost there when a frenzied yapping burst from behind her, followed by the surprised scream of a young girl.

The cyborg's head snapped around, searching for threats, just in time to see Henrietta shake the small form of Maria Gnocchi-Viani's black poodle from her arm. The dog bounced once, yelping, before scrambling upright and away, Gaetano shoving the girl's already tracking gun-arm down.

"Forget it; we've got more important things to do."

Maria's corpse was dumped unceremoniously on the Land Rover's floor, wedged between front and rear seats, followed by that of her husband. The bodyguard's greater bulk proved more difficult however, eventually being rolled across the rear bench to slump behind Jose in the driver's position, cyborgs piling in behind. Taking up the passenger's seat again, Gaetano slammed his door shut.

"That's it, let's go."

Blood was already starting to well out of the puncture wounds on 'Etta's arm, and she rubbed at it. "It hurts, Jose."

"Chiara, can you bandage Henrietta up, please? I will get her seen to properly back at the Agency."

"Yes, Mr. Croce."

"And well done, girls."

The reply from the passenger seat was lower and growled. "Don't celebrate too soon, we're not out of it yet."

Pausing at the parking exit, Jose merged easily into passing traffic, letting its flow carry them away from the now slightly emptier St. Regis.

The thud of low profile tyres over raised steel rails caused the slumbering girl to shift slightly, lips uttering an indecipherable mutter before falling back to silence. Glancing at his teenage charge, Michele Pagani edged the rear wheels of his Ferrari FF more carefully across the SWA's security gate track, before accelerating smoothly away between rows of darkened conifers, lining the compound's access road as honour guard soldiers welcoming home some victorious comrade.

He gave a small snort at that; how many cyborgs would share the view of a zero kills mission being "victorious" was debatable, but his fratello was returning in one piece, and for now he was willing to accept the small wins when and where they presented themselves.

"Wake up Kara, we're back."

Edging open bleary eyes, the Asian-featured girl looked groggily at lights still illuminating the long building ahead of them, their glow dissected by caisson windows into so many even grid squares. People spoke of cities which never slept, but seemingly amongst the surrounds of rural Italy there were also those still kept up and about at this hour by some unknown, but ultimately pressing task. Unfortunately she would soon be joining their number, albeit hopefully briefly.

Instead of driving straight through into the building's main entrance courtyard, her handler turned down its long sandstone face, until the even rumble of rubber on coarse chip asphalt gave way to crunching gravel as the supercar nosed into the more remote personnel car park. Though further removed from the staff and handlers' accommodations, the blued stone space was significantly more handy to the cyborg dorm and, mostly awake now, she was thankful for the small gesture of thoughtfulness.

It was also further from prying eyes, and Michele guided his big GT to park beside a dark grey Audi estate, its bodywork a caricature of swollen plastic guards, bash plates and high riding suspension, stashed away in a dim corner.

"Looks like the Blackers are in town."