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 Officer_Charon for use of John Darme and his other original SRT personnel, not to mention taking the time to assist with their parts.

CH14 - Strangers From a Strange Land (Part 04)

Another dark, cold morning greeted those returning to Rome, any trace of stars or sunrise smothered behind otherwise invisible cloud. A blue nylon jacket now in place over workman's coveralls, Paulo Lombardi stamped his feet to try and put some feeling back into them. It was a futile effort, but the action sent a percussive note echoing around the pre-dawn SWA car park, adding to the background murmur of conversation and idling engines captured by its stone walls.

Giving up he shoved hands deeper into warm pockets, watching as Amadeo lifted one final bag into the back of a threadbare looking Alfa 33 and slammed its boot shut.

"You sure you want to take that?"

The SRT's second in command glanced over. "The motor pool's already been ransacked, so it's use my own or borrow Gaetano's... and it's easier for him to claim expenses."

Considering the situation for a moment, Paulo looked toward where his van stood warming under a floodlight, Olivetti checking his cyborg over beside it. "Tell you what, I'll do you a trade: you can have my nice, new, warm van, and I'll go in Manfredi's banger with Darme."

Amadeo followed his gaze.

"Try Fausto or Carlos, they might want away from Jean and Stavropoulus."

"Rock and a hard place..." he paused, "...besides, after getting in on picking up Monty's rat yesterday, you won't get them out of there with a crowbar, not if there's a chance of more action."

"Also, I do not think it is fair trade." Breaking from their own conversation, both looked around to where the SRT's newest member stood by the Alfa's passenger door. "Olivetti is... fuckwit."

Apparently the local language lacked sufficient force to express that last, or the user sufficient mastery of it, and Paulo looked the man up and down, an American here through no fault of his own, while he sorted out a response. The rookie's Italian was passable but, as just then, the language barrier could...

"You have this from personal experience Darme?" Amadeo beat him to it.

"Yes, I meet him at the range. He train his cyborg, not try and help her, just hammering away: square peg, round hole, hit harder, make it fit. He should not have cyborg, he is not suited."

"Well don't go saying too much. At the end of the day, how he trains his cyborg is the handler's prerogative, whether we agree or not, so try not to go do anything rash without talking to someone first." The commando motioned for his more junior partner to take a seat, but there was a darkness behind his eyes. "Get in, the Blackers are staying here and most of the cyborgs are hiding, we'll have to find our own entertainment today."

Two doors slammed shut and, moments later, the starter motor's whine was followed by a cough and splutter of aged metal struggling to fire in cold weather. Eventually the engine caught with a gravelly flare of revs, coughing and catching once more before settling into a fast idle. It missed again as Amadeo pulled away, Paulo's eyes following its progress, and he shook his head as it did.

It was probably time for him to get rolling too. Turning toward the Transit van, he watched as Olivetti climbed up through the rear doors.

Yes, don't do anything rash... not without letting the rest of us in on it first.

Light had barely begun to touch the sky outside his office windows as Pieri Lorenzo pushed thin framed glasses slightly farther up his nose to pinch at tired eyes. It had been a late night, and early morning; he was getting too old to burn the candle so ferociously at both ends.

"It's not a good look Pieri, the girls in the vans and your SRT walking the street. We're not investing billions of Euros into the cyborg programme just to have it defeated by a couple of wayward tourists."

Silently stifling another yawn, the SWA chief held the secure-line phone more firmly to his ear as, on the other end, Monica Petris, Italian Minister of Defence, delivered her government's rebuke. It certainly was not unexpected: their silver bullet hadn't worked, their very expensive silver bullet, and in politics nothing was so tiresome as yesterday's hero.

Expecting a dressing-down did not, however, make the experience any more enjoyable.

Heavy leather seat swinging slightly, the Chief's eye fell longingly on a crystal decanter stashed in the shelves behind him, crisp cuts through its surface sparkling under his desk lamp's glow.

No... the Minister's scolding was unpleasant, but it wasn't worth half the look he would receive should Tea find him pouring Scotch before the sun had even breached the horizon, let alone made its way over the yard arm.

On the phone there was a pause in Petris's tirade, and her tone changed: the official reprimand was over.

"I realise there's good reason to hold the cyborgs back right now, but the fact is your Social Welfare Agency eats a lot of budget. There are those who would like to see your funding sent elsewhere, with good reason too, and they're increasingly difficult to argue against if you're not getting results, especially given the current economic climate."

"His" Social Welfare Agency... only hers when they were doing well.

"Is it really that bad?"

It was a redundant question, the Minister's office kept him abreast regarding where his organisation stood, but something was required to fill the gap.

"You know as well as I do it is," Petris's tone was terse, "Hartmann's warehouse was a long time ago..."

"...and Monaco, and the Mercury bird," added the Chief, letting his tone say she was forgetting something important.

"The first of which was only officially sanctioned retrospectively, and the other a result of your catching a hot-potato... and it gets difficult pointing to wins that keep coming from beyond your specified remit. People are going to start asking awkward questions, particularly AISE, if everything I can bring up keeps treading on their toes."

"I often wonder how much longer intelligence and espionage are going to remain outside our norm though." Lorenzo paused for a moment, letting that sink in. "If the Padania intend to settle in for a long game, for an intelligence war, we may well have to make those our remit, or at least adapt to encompass them more fully."

"I hardly think a couple of gophers with cameras constitutes 'settling in' for an intelligence war..."

The words were scathing, but a note of strain now crept into Petris's voice.

And so it should. The thought was dry: he was not particularly thrilled by the prospect either.

"...for all we know, the intention could be specifically to push the fratelli into hiding and lame the SWA."

"You're forgetting Moratti's Mercury bird again, Minister; that was a little expensive to be thrown away as a red herring. If they are digging in, we need to prolong the effectiveness of our current fratelli as best we can, even if that means losing this battle to win the war."

Another silence, and in it he let his chair swing back to the desk as the woman spoke again.

"Be that as it may, it's not an argument that helps much on the funding front, not unless you have some innate urge to talk to an oversight committee, explaining why your crystal ball failed. I, personally, do not feel that urge. The Prime Minister and I still think your agency is worthwhile, even just for its commercial promise, and we'll give you all the support we can, but you have to give us something in return we can trot out to justify the cost and risk."

Now Lorenzo did let a sigh to escape his lips. Unfortunately, most politicians were blessed with 20/20 hindsight, particularly where the mistakes of their opponents were concerned, or even the mistakes of those caught in the crossfire, but which may be bent to their own advantage. With the correct spin, it was all too easy to make reason and intelligent caution sound like excuses and arse covering.

"Understood Minister, we'll do what we can."

The line went dead and, holding the phone aloft for one more second to ensure he was not hanging up on his boss, Lorenzo placed the handset in its cradle.

Moments later, the main door clicked open to admit Tea, carrying a silver service in one hand. Those doors were soundproof, he knew that, in a moment of curiosity had even tested it, but his steward apparently possessed some sixth sense regarding what went on behind them.

Walking smoothly and quietly across carpet, the blond girl halted at his shoulder before starting to unload a light breakfast accompanied by fresh French press coffee, the plunger already down.

He would need to get Bianchi in here shortly to discuss putting the build programme on hold though. If Petris really were having that much trouble on the budget end, it might be worth keeping the final slots in their approved run of generation two girls free until more generation ones had passed away. Further exceeding the SWA's official establishment would only aggravate the problem, assuming of course some bright bean counter didn't decide to reclaim the funds in the meantime.

For that matter, if his hunch on the Padania's future plans was correct, they would probably want to hold off anyway until the new threat could be assessed, and the best manner in which to combat it put forward... so he would need to call in Priscilla as well.

Barely past 7am and his day was overflowing already.

Pouring a cup of coffee, Tea set the press's glass form on the table and stood back, still holding her tray. "Will that be all, sir?"

He had never asked for breakfast...

"Yes, thank you, Tea."

... but he was hungry.

"Very good sir. I recommend you take something more substantial for lunch."

"I'll leave it in your capable hands shall I?"

With a final, wordless, nod she was gone, exiting the room as silently as she had arrived, and Lorenzo looked down at the meal before him. He really was hungry, and the caffeine wouldn't hurt either... but first, he had one more phone call to make.

Picking up the receiver again, he dialled Jean Croce.

The previous day had been cold, and this one seemed intent on building from its fine example, overcast skies setting Rome a light to suit Danilo's mood. Fortunately C. Raych had not asked any awkward questions about what reached her ears during their last excursion and, with the Blacker girl held on campus, he'd at least been able to leave the radio speaker on without too much fear of more idiocy being transmitted over it.

So then: day two spent in the van... or not, as the case may be.

Trying to work some life into stiff fingers, he glanced at where Gaetano was again tucked away in his alcove, collar up and drawing on the last dregs of another cigarette. Apparently the blasé attitude was not limited to just Blacker, but afflicted any number of handlers at the Agency: how the hell it had remained secret this long he really had no idea.

One more drag and, dropping the expended stub of tobacco and filter on the pavement, his companion ground it out with a shoe, before stepping to over where Danilo had positioned himself slightly away from the smoke.

"Come on, we'll take a turn around the block before locking ourselves up again."

That was it, he couldn't take this anymore. "Are you completely out of your fucking mind Manfredi?"

"Not last time they checked."

"We're supposed to be sitting and waiting, not... taking a stroll in the park."

"We won't wander far. You coming or not?"

With that, the elder handler started to amble away, and Danilo paused. The last thing he wanted was to go trailing after the other like some rookie, but the man couldn't be left to his own devices safely either.

Two fast strides had him back beside his companion.

"You're a fucking danger Manfredi. I hoped Blacker was an isolated case, but this blasé attitude..." it was all he could do to keep his voice to a hiss, "...it's bad enough you're standing out in plain sight, but parading around is just asking for trouble, what if someone sees us?"

"So what if they do?" Halting for a moment at the alleyway's end to scan the area ahead, Gaetano led them around the building's corner, out onto the row of shopfronts facing the main thoroughfare. "You haven't spent much time at street level have you?"

Danilo opened his mouth top snap a retort, but the other man ploughed on.

"I told you yesterday, without the girls there's nothing to tell us from any other idiot pounding pavement..." he looked his companion up and down, "...and there would be a whole lot less if you'd loosen up a bit and drag that pole out of your arse."

On the tarmac beside them, a car swished by, the noise of its passage somehow amplifying the pervading quiet. The city was dead, hiding... and so should they be.

"This is all some sort of joke to you isn't it? You and Blacker and the rest of your kind."

Now Gaetano did stop.

"A wise man once said not to judge a book by its cover." Taking advantage of the halt, he lit up again, making sure he had a good ember before continuing, voice hard. "Don't mistake a relaxed attitude for not taking things seriously, quite the opposite in fact, but you can't be wound tight all the time, not if you've plans to miss an early grave."

"And wandering around like this won't put you in one?"

"Wandering around like this might just be the difference between life and another poor barstard discovering he has a lead allergy. You can piss off back to the van if you like, but it's about time for our sniper to show his face, so I'm going to try help with our lack of warm bodies."

"Because one more set of eyes is going to make all the difference." Danilo's tone was scornful.

"Right now it just might. You were at the briefing, you know we're spread thin, I'm surprised they didn't pair you up with some other door-kicker and put Chiara on the street... or at least put Monty out again."

"So much the better they didn't."

Gaetano took another drag on his cigarette. "I'd give in beating that horse, it's been dead so long even the glue factory's lost interest. You've seen her in action now, you know she's capable, if she weren't, Blacker wouldn't get away with his 'blasé attitude'… and he's a job you couldn't tempt me into with a big carrot and stick."

"I'm yet to be convinced of Blacker's judgement."

"You and many others, but that just means you're in company. Monty on her lonesome worked out pretty well yesterday. The only reason she wouldn't be out again today is that she was needed worse elsewhere."

"Like where? She's a fucking cyborg."

"And that makes the difference how?"

How did it make a difference? Of course it made a difference, you couldn't... "She's a cyborg, a weapon, supposed to follow orders, not think about them and get imaginative, and she shouldn't. Cyborgs are not human, they don't have the full range of thought, reasoning and emotion a human does, so their judgment is compromised from the off. They're tools: they're built, they're used, they die. Expecting them to be more is ridiculous and unfair."

Another cigarette down, and Gaetano ground it out too before replying, heel scrubbing viciously across the concrete, apparently buying a moment to think.

"True they don't last long, not as long as a regular person: Chiara's almost had it at three years, and it's only blind luck that's kept her alive to now. She needs constant checkups, she can't heal when she's hurt and the techs work on her with a screwdriver as much as a scalpel. So no, she's not one hundred percent human, but riddle me this Olivetti: what is it eventually kills the girls?"

"I read the fucking manual: the conditioning."

"Exactly, the drugs we pump them full of build up in their systems and eventually snuff the brain," he tapped his own skull, "the one bit of them still all human and the one bit the boffins can't grow in a jar. Without that, the machine part dies, so you tell me which part is core to their being."

Not waiting for a reply, he turned away, starting again down the street as, behind him, Danilo seethed. The brain might be human, but the artificial body kept it alive. That sort of thing couldn't not have an effect, it was a two way street.

He didn't get any further though, as suddenly his radio popped. Not more than a few steps away, Gaetano too halted as Esposito's voice crackled over their ear buds.

"Ronin, Aurora. Time to come home children, the show's starting."

In the van, again.

Sitting across from Chiara, again.

The other girl reading, again.

Raych leaned forward: it was a different book this time, cover occupied by a man in bronze armour, but she recognised the author's name from the previous novel.

Were they really that good?

Still, things had gone better today. Follow orders was what Chiara had said to do, so she had, to the letter, and it had worked. Danilo had checked her equipment over and fitted it once more, she had not messed up, Chiara had been right and he had been happy but... but she felt she should have been doing something, that she was missing something. She should be doing more, should know more, understand more, like the others seemed to.

Be ready.

The thought though brought another to mind.

"Umm, Chiara?"

Across from her, the short haired girl looked up. "Yes?"

Raych paused, question suddenly freezing in her mouth. If she asked, how would that make Danilo look? How would it look if she did not know the answer? Bad?

"Yes?" Chiara repeated.

"Umm... Triela said that they were keeping cyborgs off the street because someone was taking photographs." She paused again while the other girl waited patiently, Chiara was really patient. Last chance to back out... but she wanted to know. "Umm, is someone taking photographs really that bad? I mean, it is not like they are trying to shoot us."

The generation one's eyebrows went up, and Raych shrunk back... she had been doing so well.

"Umm... should I have known that?"

"Probably." Now the cyborg opposite closed her book, resting it in her lap and shrugged. "One of the advantages fratelli have over regular soldiers is that we can hide in plain sight. No-one suspects a little girl, but if someone is taking photographs, that means they are trying to identify us, and if they can identify us we lose that advantage. Then it makes it much easier for them to kill us... or our handlers."

So that was why... Danilo had never said...

"That is why we get street clothes, yes?"

"Street clothes?"

Raych pointed at her own garb, then across at the other girl's.

"Umm... yes, partly."

"But if no-one can tell who we are, why would the photos help?"

Chiara shrugged. "I do not know, but it is not good."

"But some fratelli were sent back onto the street."

The younger girl nodded. "Yes, Petra, Triela..."

"Why them?"

Now Chiara seemed to think, and Raych watched her until, eventually, she spoke. "We can hide in plain sight, all of us, but some things we can give ourselves away with as not being normal children. Some of us are better at hiding that than others: Petra and Triela are two of those, Kara... and I'm good at it as well. Those less likely to be detected, who look less like fratelli, have still been sent out. Monty is an expert, but she gets more time in public than anyone."

"But they did not put her back on the street today."

"No."

"Why?"

The slender girl shrugged again. "I Don't know, she must have been needed somewhere else."

"Triela said she might be working with the intelligence division."

Another shrug.

"Probably, intelligence and espionage are what she and Mr. Blacker do. They may have decided she was more useful there than on the ground."

Raych looked down at her hands, fingers knotting together and unknotting again in her lap. Monty was an expert at hiding in plain sight, but was working with the intelligence division instead. That was the sort of thing that the adults did, that Danilo would do, but then why was Monty working on it? Monty was not an adult, she was a cyborg.

Either way, they wanted Monty there. Why her? Why not anyone else?

Whatever she was working on must have been vitally important, important enough that the SWA wanted Monty there rather than on the street.

Her shoulders drooped... and all anyone seemed to want her to do was sit in a van, hidden, useless. She wasn't wanted anywhere important.

But what did Danilo want? He seemed to want her to follow orders, but would he be happy with her like that? Would it make him proud for her to simply obey him, to do what everyone else did? What did she need to do in order to be wanted, to be special, to be involved? What would make Danilo want to see her more often? What would make him proud?

"Don't try to peg yourself by Monty."

Raych's head snapped up. "What?"

Chiara sighed. "I said: do not try to judge yourself too much by Monty. What she does for the SWA is very different to what the rest of us do. Gaetano says hers is a different world, one that we do not walk in."

"But..."

"Look at it this way: Kara and I are also very good at blending in, in public, but we have been hidden as well. Being in the van, or counter-sniping, does not mean we are not good at anything else, it's not a punishment: just today, we are required here. These are important jobs too, this is our world, Monty's takes her different places."

Our world… be content in our world... do what everyone else did... but what about Danilo? Did he...

The speaker crackled, interrupting her thoughts, a deep voice cutting in mid-sentence. "...we have a potential hostile, Colosseum, top level. Male, approximately one-niner-zero centimetres. Grey jacket, black duffle."

From across the van came the sound of metal on metal. Sometime during the sentence's few seconds, Chiara had drawn her Beretta, and now held the slide slightly back to check she had a round chambered.

"That's one of the SRT, Nihad."

Yes, she had heard him before; Chiara had told her that before...Who was he talking about though? Did this mean they had found their target? She hoped so, she wanted to fight, she wanted to take out a target for Danilo. She had no idea where 'the Colosseum' was, but surely she would be called in. Why else would she be sitting here?

Fast check over, her companion replaced the pistol in its holster, swapping it instead for a heavy HK53 rifle. Scrambling to follow that lead, Raych picked up her own, much more modern, Tavor. Mr. Manfredi seemed happy with Chiara, Chiara followed his orders and could anticipate what he would want, and Mr. Manfredi had been ready fast. She would do what Chiara did.

The radio crackled again, this time with Mr. Croce's voice. "Sagittario, Zero Alpha. Copy that, do not engage until given clearance to do so, we're checking now to make sure no-one has people in the area."

Removing the bullpup carbine's magazine, she ensured fresh rounds glistened at its top, before slamming it back in place and retracted the bolt slightly to check also one now lay ready to fire.

"Wilco. Recommend looking for a vehicle nearby as well, he can't have gotten far without one looking like he does."

"I will pass it on. Stay sharp."

"Sagittario, out."

There was only a moment's pause before another crackle cut through her thoughts, this time however from her ear bud, followed by Mr. Esposito's voice. "Ronin, Aurora. Time to come home children, the show's starting."

Those call-signs she knew, those were Danilo and Mr. Manfredi. If they were coming back, that must mean they would be moving.

Follow orders, and try to anticipate what your handler wants.

Putting the carbine down again, she extracted her pistol, repeating the inspection process. Chiara had been faster to ready the previous day because she and her handler had anticipated what they would need. This time, she would be ready too, ready for Danilo. Where was Danilo though? If there was going to be action, then she needed Danilo here to tell her what to do, and to check the equipment she was not familiar with.

"Squadra Sagittario, Zero Alpha. Be advised there are no friendlies in the area."

Mr. Croce's voice burst into the space again, and Raych jumped as the rear door's latch clacked open in time with it. Attention diverted, she missed what was said next as dull light spilled into the van's gloomy interior.

Danilo was back.

Waiting for the younger man to enter first, Mr. Manfredi clambered inside to close up behind himself, before shuffling up the vehicle's length and banging on the driver's compartment divider.

"Espo, Lombardi, what have we missed?"

There was a moment's silence, then Mr. Esposito slipped back through the heavy blackout curtains.

"Not much. Nihad and Caprese found a potential mark at the Colosseum. Jean's checked it out, but so far no-one's come back as having people around there. If I was going to take a guess, I would say they'll move a fratello in fairly shortly as support."

Raych's ears pricked up: sending a fratello as support. That would be her wouldn't it? She was the fighter after all, the backup... the support. She would be ready too, she had to be: this was for her to do.

Her world.

"Hilshire would be closest."

"He would be, but I doubt Jean will move him and Triela off the Circus Maximus without some positive..."

"Zero Alpha, Sagittario." The SRT commando cut his sentence short as Nihad's voice again came tinny through the speaker, an urgent note however cutting through the static. "Target is armed. Say again: target is armed. Hard to tell at this distance, but it looks like a Dragunov..."

"That would match the rounds found in his other victims." Mr. Manfredi's voice was flat.

"...requesting clearance to engage."

There was the faintest of pauses.

"Squadra Sagittario, Zero Alpha. Do not engage. I say again, do not engage. We are routing the nearest fratello to your position now."

"What do you mean 'do not fucking engage' Jean!"

That was a new voice, another she did not recognise, but it did not sound happy and, as it ground out again, Mr. Lombardi called back from the driver's seat.

"Filippo didn't like that."

"Fuck Filippo, Giorgio won't like that. Do you think if you broke my leg I could avoid the next week or so of training?"

"Sagittario Two! You will maintain comms discipline..." that was Mr. Croce again, "...I said do not engage the target, leave him for the fratelli to capture. I will not repeat myself again! Zero Alpha.Out."

Raych grasped her carbine tighter. They were sending a fratello to fight, to capture the target. This was what she had waited for, why Danilo had trained her. She hoped it would be her.

But Mr. Croce had said "closest", was she the closest?

It didn't matter, they were the fast responders. The moment something happened, she would be there. Her world, her role... a finally important role.

The speaker squawked again, and the voice's tone from it was different: calm, but fast and clipped, punctuated by the sudden crack of rifle fire. "All callsigns, all callsigns. Sagittario has been engaged. I say again: Squadra Sagittario has been engaged. Returning fire."

Raych tensed again, that was a good sign. They would need her there.

Like his cyborg before him, Mr. Manfred's rifle was already in his hands, the full-length version of his girl's firearm, and he pulled the bolt back slightly.

This was it, Mr. Manfredi was getting ready.

"C. Raych, give your carbine here."

The words caused her to start, but she recovered quickly to hand her Tavor over to Danilo. He was checking her gear, they must be going somewhere if he was doing that. Had Mr. Croce called him already? Already given him orders?

"And your pistol."

Receiving her long arm back, the girl lifted her top slightly to withdraw the Steyr hidden at her waist, making to pass it also over.

"Grip first, C. Raych."

She froze: she had forgotten that, hopefully Chiara had not seen. Glancing up she however found the other fratello once more engrossed in preparations, Mr. Manfredi with a hand on one ear, listening. Turning her gun around and holding it out, she heard him respond to whatever message he had received.

"Roger that, we're on our way."

Patting his cyborg's shoulder, the elder handler stood, walking quickly once more to the front of the van. Pausing, he said something through the curtain Raych could not hear, but the vehicle's engine immediately rumbled to life. This was it, they really were going, Raych's heart leapt: finally she would be going into action.

The Transit jerked to life, engine revving as it heeled over to accelerate away.

But why had Mr. Manfredi been called? Why not Danilo? Surely Danilo was more important. Had they been with Mr. Pagani or Mr. Hilshire here she could have understood but, why Mr. Manfredi?

Swinging from the grab bar, the handler in question plonked himself down opposite again as Mr. Lombardi swerved through another turn. When he spoke, his voice was strong and the words fast, carrying over the rumbling din of engine and rolling tyres.

"Jean's ordered us to the Colosseum, park nearby but wait inside the vehicle. Triela's taking point..."

The words hit Raych almost physically: Triela had point?

"...she'll likely handle it, but we need be nearby should things go awry."

She could feel the bottom starting to fall out of her world. Why Triela? Triela was a first gen. She, Raych, the newer, better model, was supposed to handle these things. She was a fighter, Triela had been on the street, fighters waited in vans. This was her world, her job, not someone else's.

As if to underscore the point however, another voice issued distorted from above, younger and female.

"Squadra Sagittario, this is Leprotto. I am entering the building from the eastern side. Do you still have eyes on target?"

"Negative Leprotto. We lost sight of him, but he was high on the north facade."

"Leprotto is Triela."

Raych's head snapped up to find Chiara still holding her rifle, book no longer in sight.

"What?"

"You were going to ask who 'Leprotto' was, it's Triela."

She was about to open her mouth again when Danilo's voice cut across her. "C. Raych! Here, now."

Looking around, she found her handler holding her vest and plate carrier. He obviously thought they would be going in, no matter what Mr. Manfredi said, and Danilo was never wrong. Quickly, Raych removed her loose poncho top. Standing in the van's insufficiently heated rear wearing undershirt only, she felt the vehicle violently swerve again, sending her careening sideways and rolling to a halt at Danilo's feet. Lifting her bodily up, the handler put her back before himself.

"Use the grab bar."

It was a stretch but, reaching up she complied, and he started to fit armour plate.

So it was Triela, not she, who would walk away the glory today. That wasn't fair, Triela had been given plenty of time to make a name for herself, to up her kill count, but Raych had experienced none, and she had waited patiently in the van, which presented her no chances. Why had she not been sent in? Did they think she would fail?

Plate carriers now fitted, Danilo commenced work on her tactical vest.

No, Danilo had trained her, he would not let her fail, so then why not send her? Why let Danilo's effort go to waste?

"Fuck! Did you see where that came from?" The other SRT man's voice again.

"No, but he has to be moving around to the east."

"I can't see him high, he must've gone down a level."

The target was moving. She should be in there, now, not waiting to be called: the more cyborgs the better. The Colosseum sounded big, they would not get in each others' way. She wanted to be in there. Plus, if she went in, they would have Danilo there, and he would easily get her to the enemy.

Pulling the last strap tight on her vest, Danilo directed her swaying course back to join Chiara, the latter now also sporting armour. She was ready earlier, again, and presumably without her handler's help.

"This is Leprotto, I'm at the second level on the eastern side."

Second level? Eastern side?

She wished she could see out, she wanted to get out. Danilo was expecting her to get out and help Triela.

Triela... Leprotto...

"'Leprotto'... Does that mean Triela, has her own call sign?"

Chiara glanced up. "Yes."

"But why her and not us? And why is she taking point? We are the fighters, we should be in there, you said this was our world."

"And hers." Now the younger girl met her eyes. "Triela was closer, and while she blends in well on the street, that's not her only forte. She will be better in there than either of us would be, she's good at fighting, good in close quarters, good hand to hand. The GIS gave her that nickname when she trained with them..."

"But why does she..."

"...get to keep it? I suppose being senior girl has its advantages."

"And Danilo let the GIS train with me."

"Did they give you a nickname?"

No, they had not.

With that the younger girl looked toward the front of the van and, taking the hint, Raych followed suit, watching the speaker for its next report. On their way, her eyes glimpsed Danilo, also wearing a tactical vest now. He had made sure she was dressed and ready for action before himself... he had put her first.

She couldn't let him down, she had to do better for him. She would follow Chiara's advice, follow his instructions to the letter, whatever they were, and learn to anticipate what he wanted.

Right now he did not look happy though. He had readied her to be in there, to help Triela, she wanted to be in there... He obviously thought she should be in there as well.

"Contact!"

Triela's distorted voice filled the van again as that vehicle slithered to a halt, horns blasting behind it, momentarily drowning out the senior cyborg's words.

They were here, let her out. Danilo expected her to get out.

"...I'm going after him."

How close were they? They had to be close. How big could Rome be?

From outside she heard the crack of a rifle, muffled by distance and sound deadening, but clear to her enhanced hearing.

Very close.

"Leprotto, he's gone up one..." Nihad again. "...Target is on the level above you, still headed around the north side. Visibility's deteriorating out here, if it gets much worse it will start limiting our ability to help."

Let her out, they had to let her out. The SRT could not help much longer, she could, with Danilo she definitely could... but Danilo had not ordered her to go anywhere.

But, he expected her to go out there did he not? She could be of use out there.

"Umm... Danilo?"

"Quiet!" Her handler's reply was a hiss.

The crack of a rifle punched its way inside once more, followed by a more hollow report. She should be out there, helping, but Danilo had not ordered her to go. She should be out there, it would only be a matter of time... do as your handler orders.

"Fuck! He's gone over the edge!" That was the other SRT man, Sagittario Two, and his exclamation was accompanied by two more rifle shots.

The next words however reeked of frustration. "One hit only, target has gone back inside."

The SRT could not help, they had said so, she should be there. A cyborg could help, but she had to wait for Danilo...

Wait for Danilo... but Chiara had said she should anticipate what her handler would want, and Danilo obviously meant for her to be out there. Maybe what he wanted was to be out as well, he expected her to be out there, and if that was what he wanted, what he expected...

Raych stood, picking up her carbine as she did so and stepped toward the back of the van.

"C. Raych! Sit down!"

She paused at the door. "But... we should help. We're expected to help."

"Sit down. Now."

Danilo's voice was terse, but he had never said it was an order, and if he did not wish to be out there, then why did he look so unhappy? He had got her ready, checked her rifle, checked her pistol. He had made her ready to go, ready to help... he expected her to be in the Colosseum.

"But..." Her fingers closed on the handle, beginning to squeeze.

"C. Raych stop right there!"

The latch clicked, the door was open. "Bu..."

"Chiara, put her out!"

The entry of a new voice to their conversation finally got her attention, and she swung around...

...just in time to see a small fist coming the opposite direction.

And the world went black.