MEANWHILE IN ITALY
A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida.
Author's note: These next couple of chapters tie in directly with my previous writing in "And the Adventure Continues", notably chapters 09 and 10 of that story. While the main plot arc is carried there rather than here, I hope this will make an interesting alternate perspective.
Thanks to Kiskaloo for the continued loan of Michele and Kara, Professor Voodoo for Marisa, theprodigalson for Nikias and Ana, and Officer_Charon for John Darme and his other original SRT personnel.
CH12 - Strangers From a Strange Land (Part 02)
Drumming fingers on the steering wheel's leather rim, Danilo waited for his cyborg to reappear from indoors. Strict orders meant she couldn't stop in the dorm to chat, and all she needed do was clean up and retrieve her pistol.
This was taking too long.
With that thought he glanced at his watch, almost ten minutes already, and a grimace crossed his face: he had actually bought her a timepiece of her own, a good one, a Casio G-shock Rangeman, something with plenty of useful functions and that would be difficult to break, but he was damned if he was going to give it to her now. Maybe she could have it later down the track, but certainly not until she had given reason to be rewarded again, and could promise not to screw up so completely in the future.
It could be in its box for awhile yet.
That brought another sour expression, this one more reluctant. Frankly, the previous day's outburst had probably gone a bit far, but not by much: something would have to batter its way through C. Raych's thick skull, or he was going to wind up going in circles forever... and he had tried damn near everything else. Maybe a proper reaming was exactly what she needed to finally shape up, and if that were the case, then going overboard was exactly what had been required. Either way, the deed was done now, and if he were to keep her in line it would need to be backed up. He could not leave her on the obstacle course as punishment forever mind, but there was no harm in letting his threats linger.
Finally, after what seemed an age, his cyborg pushed her way out of the dorm entry, trotting toward the car.
Reaching back, he opened her door. "What took you so long?"
"Umm..."
"You know what," his voice cut through her response, "don't even answer."
"Umm... yes, Danilo."
Heaving a sigh, the handler shifted his car into drive and pulled away from the building. At least keeping C. Raych running constantly meant he could avoid some other conversations he would rather not have. Those with his superiors to start with, and at some point he was going to need to find Jethro Blacker and explain why his charge had seen fit to interrupt the other man's during that cyborg's recovery time: the recovery time of a senior cyborg, as it had been made quite clear to him by Milani, to boot.
That brought an angry snort: 'senior cyborg' his arse. It had been a so called 'senior' cyborg who had caused this whole problem in the first place.
For that matter, if he was going to have to go and explain himself, he damn well wanted to know what apparently more experienced handlers had to say for their charges' actions. If his cyborg had merely been tagging along, then there was no way in hell he intended to shoulder the blame and apologise to Blacker on another's behalf, particularly as C. Raych had been the most junior involved.
If there were going to be such thing as a 'senior' cyborg, then lay responsibility on the senior girl.
It would be helpful if he actually knew what the Blacker man looked like.
Ahead, the armoury's low silhouette came into view, afternoon light casting long shadows from its blocky shape. Crunching into the row of empty parking bays, Danilo killed his engine, before glancing in the rear view mirror.
"You did remember your gun, C. Raych?"
There was a little flinch from the drooping form behind as he said it. "Yes... umm... yes, Danilo."
"Good. Get out and follow me, we will be doing speed drills today."
"Yes, Danilo."
Not bothering with his coat for the short walk, the handler stepped out into winter evening's cold, waiting for the sound of a second door closing before locking the car. No other vehicles was a good sign, he did not much feel like having to share the range right now and, frankly, the last thing his cyborg needed were distractions.
Half a flight of steps into the earth, the bunker's heavy steel door allowed entrance to welcome warmth. Taking a moment to defrost slightly, Danilo left his charge in place, stepping away to sign for ammunition and targets, before directing her to the shooting range door. From beyond its heavy panelling came the muffled report of firearms, so much for having an empty range, and he swung it open to let sharp cracks and bangs flow out into the anteroom unimpeded, bouncing off hard walls.
Stepping inside he looked around. Despite the clamour, there were few people present: one of the SRT, Darme or something like that, and a man and woman he did not recognise. Fortunately for him, all three had been kind enough to arrange themselves toward one end.
Moving slightly to allow his following cyborg passage, he directed her to the farthest lanes from their companions. "C. Raych, you will be doing modified El Presidente drills: full magazines."
"Yes, Danilo."
As she started to unpack, laying out a full complement of empty mags neatly alongside her Steyr, the handler turned his gaze away, instead bringing it to rest on the two unfamiliar forms. The man probably stood a good half head taller than Danilo himself, with dark brown hair and clad in a grey suit. He glanced at his own jacket and trouser combination then back again: the cut was a little more slender than what he personally would have preferred, its dapper line at odds with utilitarian yellow ear protectors and glasses, through which the other peered along the barrel of a small, black pistol.
Small guns, perhaps field agents from Section One? Partners?
"Umm, Danilo, can you please..."
Turning back to his own charge, the handler absently took the now emptied Steyr box proffered and, twisting to set it down, he saw her glance briefly the same direction.
Following her gaze once more up the firing line, he found the woman feeding her own magazines from a little plastic tray... no, not woman: girl. The heels of tall, white boots had lifted her a few centimetres but, now that he was paying attention, she was a lot younger than he had originally thought. Not a cyborg though, if they were a fratello pair the man should have been coaching, and cyborgs did not need the ear protectors she too wore over short, brown hair.
She was very pretty though... and it couldn't hurt to have friends in the other camp either.
He turned a glare on C. Raych. "Keep loading and wait here."
Apparently the girl saw him coming as, sliding a fresh stack of rounds into her own gun, she set it down to level a cool gaze on the approaching man. Stopping before her he glanced at the firearm: a black Walther PPK wearing a long suppressor, who the hell used one of those these days, and held out a hand.
"Danilo Olivetti... do you work here? I haven't seen you before."
Now the girl reached out with slender fingers to fix his palm in her own surprisingly firm grasp, regarding him from behind heavy eyelids. "You could say that. Blacker, Monty Blacker."
It was a pleasant, smooth voice, tinged with British overtones, and Danilo started to open his mouth to make some friendly reply, then froze as her name registered...
"Blacker... the spy-borg?"
"So that's what they're calling me now."
Nothing, no thoughts, he needed something to say but, in the pit of his stomach, the handler felt a horrible sinking feeling like someone had just pulled the rug out from beneath his feet: definitely not a cyborg... but yes, a cyborg.
He needed something to say.
"It was the..." he tapped his own ear protectors lamely.
She's a cyborg, just a cyborg, treat her as such.
Pulling himself more upright, the man forced his voice harder, "...I was not under the impression you cyborgs needed them."
Now however, the grey-suited man had ceased firing and, setting his own pistol down, stepped around the barrier to rest an arm over Monty's shoulders, and Danilo felt himself twitch involuntarily at the action: too familiar.
"Most cyborgs don't spend as much time in public as this one either."
He felt the world drop again as the second realisation dawned.
"...and that would make you Jethro Blacker."
"Guilty as charged."
One person he had most certainly not wanted to meet.
Reaching out, the handler felt himself again going through the motions of greeting and shaking hands, but his mind raced: would these two expect an explanation now? An apology? He did not have one prepared yet, and trying to make things up here could result in just digging a deeper hole for himself, he did not want to say anything until he could get a story in order. He didn't want to say the wrong thing. Jethro seemed fairly relaxed though, maybe if he could just keep them distracted...
Reaching out, he this time tapped Monty's ear protectors. "Still, here these would seem a moot point."
It wasn't the other handler who replied however, and his cyborg cocked an eyebrow, her voice cold. "I somehow doubt my wearing them is hurting anybody."
Danilo felt himself twitch again, and was about to retort before realising he was being looked past, Monty's eyes now focused farther down the firing line, and she jerked he head along its length.
"I think your cyborg is waiting for you."
Another twitch: that was almost an order, who the fuck had thought they should let a cyborg talk like that to a handler? And if her own handler would not say something, then obviously it would be up to him to...
No, he took a mental breath, stay amiable. Thanks to his own useless lump of flesh and carbon fibre he was enough on the back foot here already.
"C. Raych can wait."
Now it was other man's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Cee?"
"For 'cyborg'."
"A-la Asimov's 'R-dot' for 'robot'?"
That brought an involuntary smile, and internal sigh of relief as the conversation moved on. "You're the first to pick that. You've read his works?"
"Bits here and there..."
"Well, you two have a nice chat..." dropping his gaze for a moment, Danilo followed the flat toned interruption to its source, witnessing Monty lift her custodian's arm and extricate herself from beneath it, "...personally I would like to be out of here and back to something more productive in moderately shortish order."
He managed to hold the glare in check as she turned back to the range proper, sending another target zipping away toward its backstop, before Jethro shot him a wry grin. "Guess that's my cue, lest I get myself in trouble... again."
In trouble? With whom? The cyborg?
This time Danilo couldn't quite keep the look of incredulous, furious disapproval from flashing over his features. There was something seriously fucked up about a handler apparently marching to the beat of his cyborg's drum, and it sure as hell wasn't something he would hope to see spread through the Agency. This was supposed to be one of the premier fratelli and yet...
He forced himself back under control, the muffled report of shots and clack of Monty's slide cycling pulling him back to the conversation.
"I suppose I had best get working too."
Jethro was already turning back to his own lane, but stopped to reply. "If you don't mind me asking: how long have you two been at it?"
"About a month and a half. She's done her first mission..." a scowl crossed his face, this was starting to get back toward territory he did not want to visit right now,"...but, as much as I hate to say it, there's still a few rough edges to be knocked off before she'll reach a standard I'm happy with."
"Well, there's no time like the present, break a leg right?"
The thought had occurred.
Not giving a reply, Danilo turned his back on the other pair, stalking back toward his own charge. That had not been what he had been led to expect. Senior or no, he would be keeping a close eye on the Blacker fratello from now on, and keeping C. Raych as far from them as possible. It had to be some sort of act, giving the cyborg that much leeway could not work operationally, and if it were, he intended to find out.
In her bay, his own unit stood gun in hand, looking toward him through the plexiglass divider, her eyes occasionally glancing toward the two he had just left.
"What the fuck are you staring at C. Raych?" The words were a growl.
"Umm, nothing... nothing, sir."
Clipping a sheet of paper with three rectangles drawn on it to the track above, the handler ran it out to ten metres as the cyborg turned to face him, gun holstered.
"Shooter ready?"
"Ready."
"Then draw!"
Spinning the face downrange and wrenching her gun out of its hiding place in a single movement, his charge opened fire, putting two rounds into the first rectangle, then the second, tracking back and forward across three targets until her final brass casing pinged off concrete flooring. Dropping the spent magazine out she placed it back on the bench before slamming a new one home and chambering a round, turning back to face her master.
"Draw!"
She spun again and, as the shots sounded, Danilo stepped forward to pick up one of the still loaded mags, glancing involuntarily toward the Blackers in the process, back in their individual lanes. The way others talked these should have been a slick, top-notch fratello not... this: no tactical drills, just the bare bones, the handler giving no coaching and acting more like a chastised husband than the master of a deadly weapon. He watched Monty's slide lock back once more: tiny, out-dated firearms, tens of millions of Euros wandering around unable to defend itself properly and with no-one directing it.
Raych was facing him again.
"Draw!"
Her attention diverted again briefly, he started to thumb rounds out of the loaded magazine. A third were gone before she turned back and, sending her for another cycle, he produced a blue, aluminium snap cap from a pocket, settling it amongst the live ammunition before re-filling the box. Setting it down with C. Raych's remaining full mags as she reloaded again, he waited for her to face him once more.
"Draw!"
One down.
"Draw!"
Two down.
"Draw!"
The rapid report of more shots filled the area until... Click.
Nothing.
There was a pause, then his charge tried again, and again, yanking feverishly at the ineffective trigger. Something must have finally jogged her memory, and in a flash she slapped the bottom of the magazine and racked the slide, sending his blue dummy round spinning away, before resuming fire.
Panic, she had panicked, and that was exactly why these things were weapons given to someone else to control, he glared once more up the line, not treated as equals and left to their own devices. They couldn't think for themselves, they lacked experience, they couldn't plan, they couldn't observe, they couldn't reason: he had planted that dud in plain sight of C. Raych, she had seen where the sabotaged magazine had gone in her firing sequence, and yet still she had been caught by surprise.
Danilo seethed. Weapons, nothing more, slightly smarter smart bombs; that clearance drill should have been second nature by now.
Useless.
The cyborg was facing him again, eyes downcast and he drew a deep breath, clenching fists as he let it out slowly through flaring nostrils. Not right now, he could not blow up right now, not with those two here.
"Tap. Rack. Bang. C. Raych." The voice was a low growl. "What was it?"
"Tap, rack, bang... sir."
"And don't forget it. We could both have been killed in the time it took you to remember that."
"Yes... yes sir."
"Now draw!"
That finished her last magazine and, as she started to reload each again, Danilo wound her target back in. The three rectangles were completely chewed out, with a peppering of other holes marring the paper outside them. Not bad, but not as good as he wanted yet either.
"Pick your act up C. Raych."
"Yes sir."
Three more targets came and went before he saw the Blackers making ready to leave: Monty placing her PPK and holster in a black leather case while Jethro's disappeared inside his jacket. Removing eyewear and ear protectors, the girl ran one hand through her hair to smooth it in place, before being ushered toward the door by her partner, one hand placed lightly in the small of her back.
That sort of shit: that was the problem.
Now just the SRT man remained, still working with one of the Agency standard-issue Beretta 92s. That was still a bugbear, but at least now he could start drilling his charge properly without risk of drawing unwanted attention. Retrieving another loaded magazine, Danilo this time planted the snap cap barely far enough down the stack to remain concealed.
It did not take long for C. Raych to find it.
Standing faced away from her target, the cyborg flexed her fingers, waiting for the order, mind working as she did so. She had not expected Monty to be here, not expected her to be so... changed. The other girl had looked pretty before, even in hospital, but now, fully dressed and out of bed, she was gorgeous... glamorous, mature and, though her gaze had still not been friendly, Raych was starting to understand why Kara considered her... what was the word? Aspirational?
And Danilo had gone to talk to her, actually gone out of his way to talk to a cyborg. She didn't think she had ever seen...
"Draw!"
Hearing her handler's command, she spun around, pistol coming up smoothly. That at least she could do now: a fast, efficient draw every time. Lining up on the first rectangle she squeezed the trigger.
Bang! bang!
Next target and squeeze again.
Nothing...
Not again. Please not again!
She squeezed again, still nothing, and again, finger feverishly pulling at the trigger over and over. It had to work, it had to, Danilo would not have bought her a broken gun, and if it did not work then Danilo would be furious. It would be her fault. Maybe if she tried one...
Tap, rack, bang. That was what Danilo had said: tap, rack, bang.
Moving to hit the magazine's base, her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by an enraged voice, slashing through her conscious. "C. Raych! Make safe and face me!"
Starting, she very nearly dropped her pistol, saving it just in time to instead holster before doing as ordered. Before her, Danilo's face was furious: he was angry, she had made him angry.
"Just what the fuck did you think you were doing C. Raych?"
"Umm... I..."
"Shut up! I went through this less than half an hour ago, and you've been practicing it for weeks now, months even: tap, rack, bang! It's not that fucking difficult! I bet every other cyborg knows how to do it! I bet Monty knows how to do it! So why do you seem to find it so fucking hard?"
"Umm..."
"What was the sequence C. Raych? Tell me!"
"Tap, rack, bang, sir."
"So how is it you can remember that now, but not when you actually fucking need it?"
"Umm..."
"Well? Tell me. I would really like to know, because it should be..."
A strong hand landed heavily on her master's shoulder . "Hey, how about you should try being easier on her."
The voice which cut through his tirade was unfamiliar, accented and choppy, as if its speaker were not entirely familiar with the language. Behind his extended arm stood the SRT man, a black range bag hanging from his other hand, and Raych felt her own fists clench. This man looked angry, and he had touched her handler. Without thinking she took a step forward, right fingers unclenching to edge toward the pistol at her hip.
The hand was removed.
Danilo had also turned around. "What did you say?"
"I say you should try help, rather than shout. Shouting... not always work."
"You're what, SRT?"
"Si."
"Then go do your fucking SRT thing. If the Agency thought you knew how to deal with a cyborg they would have made you a handler, but they didn't."
Silence.
Now the other man really did look angry, like he wanted to say more, free hand tightening on the bag's handles, but his eyes swung to Raych again as she advanced another pace.
"Fine. You try your way, but I still say is wrong way. You will not get good results. Buonanotte."
Turning on a heel with military precision, the foreign commando marched from the space without another word or backwards glance.
"Fucking Americans." Danilo turned back to his charge. "What are you waiting for? Get back to work."
It was well and truly dark by the time Danilo's Lexus rolled once more to a halt before the cyborg dorm, black paint smearing its form against the night, all traces of twilight having long disappeared from the sky. In its rear seat, Raych slumped silently, toying with her pistol case: a slightly better day, not home so late as the previous night, there might actually be someone awake this time.
But not a good day either.
Dinner had been a similarly silent affair, Danilo barely saying ten words to her through the entire meal, she had counted, but he had seemed... less angry... when they left. She had become better at the range, she had been remembering her drills by the end. She had to remember, she had to be useful, she did not want to be reconditioned, she didn't.
Though, if she really were this much trouble to Danilo, maybe it would be for the best if she were...
"Out, C. Raych. I will come again in the morning. Exercise kit."
"Yes, Danilo."
Opening her door, the girl slid into night-time cold to the ring of her handler's phone, and she closed up behind herself as he pressed a button on the steering wheel to answer.
She did not want to be reconditioned.
Traipsing up the colonnade steps, she looked down at the pistol case in her hand. How much trouble was she causing? Too much? Was that why she had not been deployed again? Monty had been at the range, she had not dared speak to her, by what Danilo said she must have been really mad, but Danilo had talked to her. Did the adults really listen to Monty that much? Maybe if she talked to someone who could talk to Monty and...
From back on the road, there was the sound of a car door opening. "C. Raych! Back here!"
Without even thinking about the movement, Raych turned, jogging the way she had come, to stand once more before her handler.
"New orders: mission briefing tomorrow at zero-six-hundred hours. Dress in street clothes, I will pick you up at zero-five-thirty."
A mission! She was wanted!
Suddenly it felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
"Yes sir!"
"Make sure your gun is thoroughly cleaned tonight, you will need it."
"Yes sir!"
Watching until her handler's car disappeared from sight, Raych headed once more for the dorm. A mission, she had a mission! She was wanted after all... she must not have messed up as badly as she thought.
But if she had not messed up so badly, then why had Danilo been so angry? Maybe whoever had given her a mission did not know yet.
But, surely Danilo would have told them.
It made no sense.
She had a mission.
Footfalls lighter than before, the girl ascended carpeted steps toward her room. She wanted a shower, but she had a mission tomorrow, and Danilo had told her to make sure her weapon was cleaned. She would clean that first. She had a mission, and a briefing. She had never been to a briefing before, what was she supposed to do at a briefing? She did not want to mess up anymore. Was it normal to have a briefing before a mission? Kara would know.
Unfortunately, the creak of her room's door revealed an empty space beyond, empty except for Dog, her other roommate no-where to be seen, and Raych paused. What was she to do now?
Maybe she was with Allison.
Closing her door again, the girl stepped quickly down the corridor to rap on the identical front of Allison's room.
"Come in!"
That voice was not Allison's.
Cautiously, she pushed the door open.
Inside, a red headed teenager lay on the bed opposite her friend's, leafing through a magazine held above her, and her head twisted around to look under it at the new arrival.
"Oh, hi Raych."
"Umm... hello, Petra. Umm, is Kara not here?"
"She had a mission cancelled, the last time I heard of her she was headed for the outdoor range."
Kara had a mission cancelled? Why had she had a mission cancelled... hopefully she was not in trouble too.
"Umm... okay. Allison?"
"Haven't seen her, I think Brian took her somewhere."
"Marisa?"
There was a momentary pause, and in it, a barely audible sigh, before the answer returned. "I think she went with Kara, anyone else?"
"Umm... no, no. Thank you, Petra, goodnight."
Exiting the room again, the younger cyborg paused. She hoped Kara was not in trouble, she would have to ask someone, maybe ask Kara when she got back... but how long would that be? Now what? She still needed to clean her gun too, but she wanted to know what she was supposed to do tomorrow.
Triela. Triela would know.
Two flights of stairs passed beneath her feet quickly, depositing her at Triela's door, the sound of voices wafting out to her. Maybe this time she would find someone to talk to.
Tentatively, she knocked.
"Enter!"
This was a more heavily populated room than the last she had visited. Claes occupied her usual position on the top bunk, with Triela at the table, along with...
"Marisa? Petra said you were out on the range with Kara."
"And hello to you as well, Raych." Claes' tone was dry.
"Umm... sorry. Hello Claes, hello Triela." Holding up her weapon case, the new arrival looked hopeful. "Do you mind if I clean my pistol here?"
The senior cyborg leaned back in her chair to study the visitor, then smiled. "Go right ahead, take a seat."
Feeling relieved, the girl sat down and started to unpack her Steyr, before glancing again at the red head across the table.
"Marisa? Petra said you were down on the range with Kara, she said she had a mission cancelled."
"Yeah, whatever Kara was supposed to be protecting was apparently called off as too dangerous, so we were on the sniper range instead." The other generation two suddenly looked glum. "I'm not very good with a scope though, so Elio decided to make it a day when the mission call came through."
"You have a mission tomorrow? So do I!"
"Briefing at six?" Now Triela's voice cut into the conversation. "In the main lecture theatre?"
"Danilo did not say where it was, but I think so... yes?"
"I think we all do."
Oh.
"Everyone?"
"Sounds like it might be..."
Raych's shoulders drooped: so she had not been specially selected, all the cyborgs were going.
Triela was still talking though. "...something big must be up if they have called in everyone. Hilshire and I were supposed to be going back to Naples before this, so they're cancelling other missions too."
"Umm... Does that mean Monty will be there?"
"Probably. If the Blackers are here, and it's that critical, the Chief and Mr. Croce will want to use them." Her senior's face took on a more gentle expression. "I heard about your excursion, how did Monty react?"
Now the elder girl looked down at the gun in her hands. She didn't actually know... but Danilo had been really mad.
"I umm, I don't know, but Danilo said she was angry."
"I didn't think she would take that very well..."
"Danilo said that he might recondition me, and that she would probably support him if he did."
There was a moment's pause.
"What!?" Marisa's outburst cut through the silence, and she was now staring at her across the table. "Recondition you? Over that!? How angry was he!?"
"Umm... very?"
"I only had to write lines! I think Kara had to write an apology, and Mr. McDonnell took Allie's keys away for a day but... reconditioning? Was he serious? "
"Umm, I think he was."
"Oh."
Marisa stopped, expression suddenly downcast again, and Raych dropped her eyes to stare once more at her hands, turning the still assembled gun held there over and over.
"Reconditioning is probably a bit much to support, even for Monty." Triela's careful tones cut through her thoughts. "I know she doesn't like anyone overly, but I don't think she would want to see anyone completely wiped either."
"Are you sure about that?" Claes' tone remained dry.
There was half a heartbeat's pause.
"...mostly." Now the slender blonde's face took on a brighter expression. "Besides, no-one has ever been reconditioned before."
"That we know of."
"Claes."
"Well, I saw Monty at the range, and Danilo went to talk to her, and he was angrier when he came back."
"That doesn't sound right, Mr. Olivetti doesn't exactly..." the senior cyborg paused, seemingly needing to rearrange what she was saying mid-sentence, "...doesn't exactly go out of his way to talk to cyborgs."
"But he did."
"Maybe he mistook her for staff?"
Three pairs of eyes turned upward toward Claes once more, who shrugged, peering at them over the top of her book. "It would not be the first time: Michele got as far as taking her out for drinks before realising she was a cyborg, and if Mr. Olivetti has only seen her around the handler offices or in staff access areas, then he could have made the mistake."
"Danilo doesn't make mistakes..."
There was another pause, and girl on the upper bunk looked about to say something else, briefly locking eyes with her room-mate, before thinking better of it.
"...and he did go and talk to Monty, and he did come back angrier."
"Then umm, then maybe we need to talk to Monty to talk to him." Heads swivelled back toward Marisa. "I mean, if Mr. Olivetti talked to Monty, and she was really angry, so he got really angry and decided to recondition Raych, then maybe we have to talk to Monty first so that she is less annoyed before he will do anything."
"I don't think he actually meant he was going to..." Triela's voice trailed off.
"I'm sorry Raych, sorry for getting you in trouble." The younger red-head's face hardened. "I'll try and talk to her tomorrow."
Trailing behind her handler, Raych stepped through lecture theatre doors into a hubbub of voices, missing a step as she suddenly found herself at the base of a deep pit lined with people, right at the centre of attention.
Triela had been correct: everyone was here.
The room was tall and large, with a podium and hanging projector screen at the front, tiered seating curving around to focus on that central point. There were lots of seats, she did not think she had seen enough people to fill all those at the SWA before, ever, but now those places were all but completely taken: by fratelli, by staff, by SRT personnel, and many others she did not recognise. There were some familiar faces in the crowd though: Allison, Kara and Marisa were off to one side, and she could see Petra too. Farther back and higher she found Triela and Monty, their handlers between them. Noticing her entry, the blond haired generation one gave a cheery wave. The second girl however only spared her a brief, cold glance, before turning back to talk quietly over something on the desk with her handler.
"Come on, C. Raych."
Following her own handler, past those standing in the aisles to a pair of free positions at the edge of the rows, Raych sat down. Now she could see the front of the room better. On the screen was a street map, she did not recognise of where, with three red dots marked on it, dates and locations spelled out beside each one. Beneath that stood Jean Croce, deep in conversation with Ferro and a bulky man she recognised as Major Salles of the GIS. Whatever was going on, it had to be important, everyone was here, everyone she had ever seen or trained with, and many she had not.
Finally, Mr. Croce broke away from his companions to move behind the podium. "Quiet!"
The hubbub died away, replaced briefly by a general rustling as those present produced paper and pens or, in some cases, tablets and phones.
His subordinates briefly distracted, the SWA's field commander took the moment to look across the seated personnel, and Raych flinched as she felt hard eyes wash over her.
"I'm sure you all have a rough idea why you're here, we've all been watching the news...
Watching the what?
"... and wondering how long it would be before the Agency was pulled into this whole 'Roman Sniper' mess. Now we have been." There was a pause, and the man glanced down at the podium top before him. "To recap for those living under rocks though: over the past three days, three people have been killed by what is presumed to be the same gunman. There are plenty of others already on the hunt, but at the last killing information was received that may link him to a Separatist agenda. That has got enough people worried that we have been asked to help bring matters to a close as quickly and efficiently as possible, before this lunatic goes public and the politicians start finding themselves under pressure to concede any demands."
Raych glanced around: it all sounded very important, but what was she supposed to do? On the other side of the theatre, her roommate was paying close attention to the briefing, her handler typing on a tablet before him.
She turned back to the front.
"This will be a straight man hunt. So far there have been two shootings in Ponte, plus one in Aventino, which forms the southern limit so far, and our intelligence group believe the sniper will continue to operate in the central areas of Rome. There are not many of us, so on that assumption we will be concentrating our efforts north of the Aventino site, around the old city." Above, the screen changed to show three rooms. "These are the last three positions the sniper took, so note what you're looking for. To date, the shots have been taken from elevated hides, over a range of between one and three-hundred metres. Additionally, the sniper so far seems to be showing an affection for empty residences, with the occupants away. How he knows which homes are deserted we have not yet ascertained, but it's something to look out for."
In her seat, the cyborg glanced around again. Ponte? Aventino? She hoped Danilo was listening, because she did not know what was being talked about. It really did sound very important though, and here she was, right in the middle of it, in a big operation, going out on the streets, just like she had read about: a proper cyborg, doing proper work. She glanced back again at where Triela and Monty were sitting: she would have to remember what had been written about them in the field. What would they do?
She hoped she would not mess it up.
Of course she would not mess it up, Danilo would be with her, he had done this sort of thing before, he would tell her what to do.
Twisting again she looked back toward the two experienced fratelli, just as Mr. Hilshire took a sheaf of papers from his fellow handler to begin flicking through.
Forward though, the display once again showed the city map and, as two red dots appeared on it, she suddenly remembered she was supposed to be paying attention. Turning back, she forced herself to remain tuned in to Mr. Croce's voice.
"We will also have two fast response assault teams in vehicles: one in Pigna to cover the sniper's known area of operations and the other in Esquilino. I realise that puts our heavy-hitters all on the east side of the river, but so far that's where our man has been working. For the little bit of Old Rome on the Tiber's western bank and up toward Vatican City, the Pigna van's close enough to get there on reasonably short notice." There was a pause as the man sipped at his coffee. "The Olivetti fratello with Gaetano and Chiara, Lombardi, and Esposito, will take the Esquilino position. I'll be in the Pigna van with Stavropoulus, Gallo, and Martinello. That will also serve as our command vehicle."
Raych's shoulders slumped: so that was it. She was not going to be on the street after all, not even in her handler's car... after all that, she was just the backup, again. How was she supposed to make herself useful as backup? How was she supposed to prove she was worth keeping as she was and not being reconditioned?
Pay attention.
"Everyone else is eyes on the ground. Blacker, you and Monty get the north: everything from Esquilino up to Tridente and Sallustiano. Jose, you're in the same area, but concentrate around Sant'Eustachio toward the river in the west. Alboreto..."
The commander's voice faded from her conscious once more. She was the backup, of course she was the backup. She did not know where the various places being talked about were, but it sounded like Monty had a big responsibility, and she bet Triela and Kara had big responsibilities as well. Even the generation ones were getting more responsibility than her, and Danilo had said she was supposed to do the same job they did, and do it better.
She did not want to be the backup anymore.
"The armoury is expecting us, so load out as quickly as possible. For those in the vans, your vehicles will meet you there. The investigators have not managed to link any of the shootings yet, so we're very short information on who the sniper is, or what he looks like, so make sure to radio in and confirm you're not targeting at a friendly before pulling the trigger. Call for backup if you have the chance and do not engage if you are uncertain..." Raych felt the man's eyes again bore into her, and she looked down at her fingers, "...this is too public for any screw ups."
Jean paused again, letting his gaze roam the room.
"This barstard has been striking in the afternoons. It's seven am now, don't give him another chance. Good luck, and good hunting."
For half a second there was silence, then the room was filled with the rustle and creak of many bodies rising all at once, a clamour of voices beginning to build in its wake. Following their lead, Raych also began to stand, but felt a hand push her roughly back down into her seat.
"Wait there. We won't be needed for a bit. Let the hunters go first."
The backup.
Glancing around at Danilo as he let go, she saw the Blackers rise, pushing their way through the flood of people and cyborgs heading for constricting exits, to halt before Mr. Croce. She had no chance of hearing over the noise around her, but seemingly Mr. Blacker said something because the commander looked contemplative, before shaking his head. What were they talking about? Were they talking about her? If Monty were as angry as Danilo had made her out to be, then maybe she did not want her on the mission. Would Mr. Croce listen to her if that were the case?
Her attention was drawn back to the front as Mr. Blacker gestured Kara and her handler over, saying a few short words before Monty broke away from the group, melting with the Pagani fratello back into the stream of exiting bodies. Seconds later, her handler finished his own conversation, also merging back into the flow.
What had it all been about? Was it about her? She hoped it was not about her: she might only be the backup, but she did not want to be left behind either.
As the outgoing tide started to ebb, Danilo finally stood, looking down at her with a hard gaze. "Time to get moving. I will take you to the dorm first, you will need your gun and a coat."
"Yes, Danilo."
Winter cold hit them as they emerged into the rapidly emptying car park, stone walls appearing to shift and move under the illumination of passing headlamps in pre-dawn darkness, stark shadows being thrown across their weathered faces. The black Lexus was one of the last to depart the space. People were moving quickly and, even as the fratello arrived before the cyborg dormitory, some of those whom had left the staff park first were already pulling away again. Other cars still waited in queue, one or two handlers scattered amongst them... no-one she recognised.
Coming to a halt behind a low VW hatchback, Danilo's eyes appeared in the rear vision mirror. "Coat and gun, I'll wait here."
"Yes sir."
Exiting, Raych moved quickly inside and up the stairs, almost colliding with Gattonero descending two steps at a time, pistol case carried in one hand, coat draped over a shoulder and a beanie covering black hair.
Wobbling to a last second halt, the older generation two stepped quickly around her sister, flashing a grin as she went. "Almost got you! Good luck!"
Then she was gone.
She wasn't the last cyborg around though and, swinging open the door to her room, Raych found Kara half way through setting her heavy Polo jumper over a pistol mounted high on one hip, two coats laid out on the bed before her. Turning to glance at the new arrival, the elder girl gestured to both garments.
"Which do you think?"
"Umm..." The younger looked at them again, she couldn't really tell the difference.
But if Kara were here then...
"Where's Michele?"
"I think the one of the right." Stowing the rejected coat in her wardrobe again, Kara's expression darkened. "He's gone with Monty to the armoury already."
"With Monty? Are she and Mr. Blacker going with you?"
The other shook her head. "No, Mr. Blacker is staying here to help the intelligence team, so we're giving Monty a ride up to Rome."
Raych paused. She had read the reports, Monty did not seem like a sniper, and she assumed Kara would be sniping...
"So... she will be operating with you and Mr. Pagani?"
"No, as I said: we're just her ride. Me and Michele are taking overwatch, so she'll be on her own once we reach the city." Swinging on her coat, the Asian featured girl headed for the door. "I have to run, good luck."
The door clicked shut, leaving Raych standing in the middle of the room. Monty was... going out on her own? Kara had said it, but that did not make sense. Cyborgs had to have their handlers with them did they not? That was what Danilo had said: her job was to carry out his orders, and she would be lost without Danilo, she would not know what to do if he were not there. Being there was her handler's role.
Besides, why would she want to go anywhere without Danilo?
Danilo... who was still waiting for her outside.
The thought jolted her again into action. Quickly grabbing her pistol case and coat the girl ran back downstairs.
As she emerged into the first dull dregs of a winter's day, a white saloon rumbled to a halt on the road below, and Marisa leapt from the rear door, charging toward the same steps Raych was aimed at. Crossing paths halfway up the flight, the red-head paused beside her friend.
"Talked to Monty." She then gave a big grin and two thumbs up. "Good luck today! Don't worry too much, Chiara knows what she's doing!"
Then she too was gone.
Who was Chiara?
Seated again in her handler's car, the girl passed her pistol case forward for inspection, before looking at her hands intently. So Marisa had talked to Monty already, and she seemed cheery, maybe things there were not so bad after all.
She still was not entirely sure what she was supposed to be doing now though.
Receiving the weapon and case back, she sealed it again as they rolled away. She had never seen the agency like this before: so busy, so urgent, she was not used to it, it was all changing too quickly. Whatever this mission was, it was obviously very important... and yet, while other cyborgs were headed off to go and hunt, with a chance to kill, she had been sidelined. Monty was heading out with another fratello even, but all she could do was sit in a van and wait. Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing, where they were going, but she had no idea. She would just have to follow Danilo. Danilo would not lead her astray.
Waiting for a short-wheelbase Land Rover to make its exit, Danilo swung into the vacated spot and cut his engine, before glancing in the mirror.
"Grab your gear C. Raych, time to move."
"Yes, Danilo."
Retrieving two flat, padded, bags from the passenger foot-well, the handler stepped out once more into cold air. This time his coat protected him and, waiting for the cyborg to exit, he ensured the Lexus was locked before heading for the armoury entrance. The car park outside was full, vehicles shuffling in and out as those whom had scrambled for the bunker first made way for those arriving via the dorm, or had not been out the briefing room door fast enough. Amongst that initial number crouched the bright red Ferrari FF of Michele Pagani and, running an eye over it, he came to the damned Blacker cyborg standing by its rear, talking to the owner while he loaded pistol magazines. He had seen Monty break off from her handler after the briefing, wondered what it was about, and now she was here... surely Blacker was not intending to send her out with another fratello, though right now he was starting to think that was probably exactly the sort of deranged shit the man might attempt to pull.
Keeping eyes carefully forward, Danilo passed by, down concrete steps... and into a world of barely organised chaos.
The range anteroom, usually open and quiet, was packed tight with people, spread out across its encircling benches and hard flooring, arranging bits of kit, loading magazines or waiting in line for the clerk's window, and the fratello paused.
"Olivetti! Second queue!"
Looking for the voice's owner, he found Amadeo by the heavy, secure door to the armoury proper, which now stood open, waving them over.
Squeezing past where the remaining SRT personnel had established themselves along one wall, the pair pulled up behind a well muscled handler: Stavropolous, the other gen one replacement, whose cyborg hefted a compact, M4 style carbine. Receiving his own, similarly patterned weapon, the man moved his charge away, pausing as he recognised the fratello behind, and a smile appeared on his lips.
"Haven't seen you at the shoot-house yet, Olivetti."
The expression had not spread to his eyes.
The only reply he received was a grunt and, stepping around his counterpart, Danilo found himself face to face with the SRT's second in command.
"And what can we do for you, Olivetti?"
"I need both our Tavors, five mags for each, three hundred rounds of 5.56 ball and another hundred and fifty of 9mm; flash bangs too... with two sets of LBE and armour as well."
That last earned a surprised expression. "She doesn't have her own?"
Danilo felt his annoyance rise again. "Not yet."
Taking a pace back, Amadeo looked Raych up and down, then shot her a smile. "Should be okay, you'll probably fit into adult gear anyway."
Producing two photocopied forms, he passed them to the handler. "Fill those out while we get your kit together."
Leaning against cool concrete to write, Danilo was just signing a final dotted line as the SRT man reappeared, arms piled high. Stepping forward, the handler lifted two Israeli built carbines from the stack's top, passing them off to his cyborg, then two black load bearing vests, rifle magazines and grenades already in their pouches, the weight of plate carriers resting behind making itself felt.
Starting to pile up ammunition in one arm, he looked his opposite up and down. "I saw Blacker's cyborg out with Michele, has he been past yet?"
Because, if he hadn't yet, magazine loading and waiting may happen in the car.
Amadeo however shook his head. "Blacker? Haven't seen him."
In the car it was then. Retrieving the final items, two of the ubiquitous radios, he started to squeeze back toward the door. That journey was interrupted however as the exit was thrust open from the other side, almost catching him in the nose, and the scarred face of an SRT man in workers' coveralls appeared around it.
"Manfredi, Olivetti, Espo! Time to go boys and girls, your chariot awaits."
Feeling a flicker of annoyance at the flippant tone, the handler made to follow as Gaetano Manfredi and his charge stood from beside one of the walls, kit already fully packed and carrying heavy, HK rifles. They must have been here fast for that to be done by now, and Danilo paused to let the elder man exit first, trailed by his cyborg.
Outside, dawn was just starting to break, warm tendrils of light snaking out across a clear sky. Michele's Ferrari was gone now, leaving just tracks and, beyond its former resting place, stood a white Ford Transit van, diesel engine already ticking over.
Through the cold their guide strode quickly toward it, joined by a shorter commando in similar uniform who handed over an MP5 submachine gun and tactical vest, the latter's pouches already bulging. Moving to open the vehicle's rear doors, the new arrival placed his own matching kit inside, along with a black, pump-action Benelli shotgun, before holding the panels clear as two handlers and two cyborgs climbed past.
Inside was Spartan: hose-out non-slip flooring, bench seats along each wall with rudimentary padding behind, and two small, cold LED lights to provide illumination. Picking a position close to dark curtains separating this section from the cab, Danilo settled down to try and make himself comfortable, placing his rifle atop its soft case on the seat beside and forcing C. Raych to move farther away.
Slamming the doors with their blacked out windows closed, the shorter GIS man collected his gear again, before picking his way up the van's centreline, stepping over the two cyborgs, now sat opposite each other, and skirting where Gaetano was positioned beside his charge, rifle in lap, legs stretched out to take advantage of the gap left by his counterpart's carbine.
Pausing by the forward bulkhead to properly stow his own burden in a soft bag, the commando wedged it between bench and floor, before receiving a second through the curtain which got the same treatment.
Seemingly satisfied with his handiwork, both bags were given one final shove with a foot for good measure, before the man turned to face his audience, gaze flickering between Danilo and the cyborg beyond him. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard. For those first timers who don't know us: I'm Massamiliano Esposito, and in the captain's chair today is Paulo Lombardi. You might as well make yourselves at home, as we're probably going to be in here for awhile. Please note your nearest exits, which are to the rear and right of the vehicle, and keep your seatbelts fastened at all times whilst in motion."
With that he disappeared through the blackout curtain and, moments later, the same voice issued tinny and distorted from a small speaker, set in the dividing wall.
"Zero Alpha, Topo Duo. Now departing home. Over."
There was a short pause before it crackled once more to Jean's barely recognisable tones. "Roger that Topo Duo. Let me know when you're in position."
"Will do. Topo Duo out."
With a flare of revs, the Transit started to roll and, leaning back in his seat, Danilo smiled. He was not a spy, not a policeman, not an undercover agent: he was a commando, a soldier, pure and simple. With some luck, over the next few days, he would actually get to be one again.