Chapter 2: Assignment

The beautiful bronze-skinned blond, blue-eyed girl stepped quietly into her dorm room, hoping not to awaken the terror that lay dormant in the top bunk. She strained to listen, but could hear absolutely nothing. I forgot, she thought to herself in a panic, Does she snore? Mmm… probably not…

The weary cyborg crept into the unlit room, trying not to make a sound in her high black leather boots. Thankfully, she was only wearing a black silk miniskirt and matching long-sleeved shirt, which was considerably lighter than her typical jacket and formal men's attire. All the same, she held her breath for each little step with the blood pounding in her ears in concentration and focus. She had trained all her life for this moment, and there was no way she would allow herself to fail…

"Triela," a dark, humorless voice called in tired exasperation, "If you're going to come in, then please come in and be done with it. Oh, and can you turn on the light?"

Triela jumped and yelped in shock, a sound similar to a puppy's bark. "D-don't you want to sleep?" she stammered, recovering from her surprise and flipping the light switch to reveal a room filled with teddy bears and a number of books of many different genres and sizes scattered about.

"I did until you woke me up. Considering the circumstances, we might as well have a conversation. You're not jetlagged or feeling ill at all, are you?"

"No," Triela answered, shaking her head and thinking of how random the question was.

"Well in that case, sure, why not have a conversation?" Claes had by now sat up and put on her glasses after rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Her long dark hair was draped over her shoulders and was thrown back as she stretched and yawned.

"Oh…" Triela mumbled glancing at the clock, "It's almost 0100. Do you really want to do this now?"

"And you don't?" Claes retorted, trying to trap her friend, "How… suspicious. You must have had quite a time in Naples."

Triela blushed, but hid it deftly and recovered quickly. "If you call almost being kidnapped 'having a time' then yes, I guess I did," she countered haughtily.

"Alright," Claes conceded, "Perhaps it's too early in the morning for that." She looked fondly at her friend who had her hands on her hips and her head thrown to the side in mock offence. "Have you had any withdrawal symptoms lately?"

Triela's defense immediately collapsed. Her arms dropped limply to her sides and her face took on an expression of doubtful concern. "About that…"

Jean Croce and Chief Lorenzo of Social Welfare Agency Section 2 stood side-by-side looking into a hospital room wherein lay two twin girls, unconscious and newly augmented with the Agency's cybernetic implants. Both men stared in intense contemplation through the glass observation window, trying to come up with a solution to their plight.

"Both of the handler's are dead?" Lorenzo asked Jean to clarify.

"Yes," came the ever cold, emotionless reply, "Apparently, the two of them went out for drinks to celebrate after their interview. Eyewitness reports say they were… racing on the highway when one of them caused a semi-truck to swerve, killing both of them instantly."

The Chief rubbed his temples in frustration. "Where did we find those idiots?" he hissed angrily.

"To be honest, sir, we've had to lower our standards quite a bit lately when it comes to choosing handlers. The scientists are creating more cyborgs than we can find suitable candidates for. They're being overzealous."

"It's all for the sake of advancement, Jean. These second generation cyborgs have proven to be quite successful and efficient. Their longer life expectancies make having more of them an investment for us, especially once all of the first generation girls are gone."

At this, Jean stiffened slightly, but otherwise showed no reaction. "With all due respect, sir, we should still do our utmost to ensure that only the most fitting operatives are admitted as handlers. The cyborgs are useless if they are paired with incompetents."

"No argument there," Lorenzo replied with a sigh, "At the very least, these girls haven't been conditioned yet, so finding replacements for their handlers shouldn't be a problem at all."

"It could take a while," Jean warned, "Especially scouting and the thorough evaluations can be tedious, but all are necessary if we are to find someone that can actually last in this career."

"What about Togni?"

"Marco should prove to be a suitable handler. However, he is on temporary leave. He felt the need to recover from the death of his cyborg, Angelica."

"Funny," Lorenzo observed slyly, "You don't sound as disgusted by that as you normally would. You did refer to the cyborgs as 'tools' to your brother once, didn't you?"

Jean replied, successfully sounding cool and unaffected, "That was some time ago. I've come to a few realizations since then."

"I won't bother you about it," the Chief said as they two of them entered his office. He sat down and found an unmarked folder on his desk. There were no labels or markings of any kind, save for a black circle stamped onto its tab, which indicated that the documents within required top clearance for viewing.

Lorenzo opened the folder and skimmed through it, reading to himself. Jean waited patiently, for he had already reviewed the dossier.

"Having two daughters from a crime family," Jean contemplated worriedly, "May pose some problems for us. Why didn't the original handlers we interviewed specify some kind of cosmetic change for the girls?"

Lorenzo answered in disgust, "They probably wanted to keep the girls as they are, treating them like human accessories. But besides that, the girls have never left their family's estate, so it is not likely for many people to have seen them."

"Still," Jean added, "Though it may be unlikely, there is a chance that Baldassare could get involved in something that the Agency would have to stick their fingers in…"

"Then in that case, the twins may get their chance for revenge and not even know it. There's no need to worry about anyone recognizing them, Jean. Our main concern is to find a second handler, since Togni is already on the list of possibilities."

"Like I said," Jean reiterated, "Scouting for a decent handler takes some time. There were only five or six of us total a few years ago, and we can't keep the cyborgs in a coma forever."

"What about assigning them to other handlers temporarily?"

"I would advise against that, as there is the likelihood of a connection developing between the twins and their temporary handlers. We always want to eliminate unnecessary conditioning from the equation."

The Chief drummed his fingers on his desk, sizing up the situation in his mind. It would be a waste if they could not find someone to take care of the twins while they searched for permanent handlers, but usually the handlers were the ones that took care of the cyborgs. Priscilla would probably be more than happy to adopt them for a while, he thought carefully, But she's a data analyst. Exposing the twins to a non-combat work environment may make an impression on them. We need to find a field operative, someone that actually gets their hands dirty so that we can make their introduction to the field smoother. Maybe…

Lorenzo sighed, finding no alternative to his idea and regretting that it ever crossed his mind. "Who," he asked Jean grimly, removing his glasses to rub his eyes wearily, "Is our best cyborg?"

Before Triela knew what was happening, Claes had produced a steaming ceramic kettle of tea, a plate of homemade lemon tea cakes, and three filled teacups, placing all of these on the circular table in their room. The petite, doll-like Henrietta was happily spooning copious amounts of sugar into her cup, looking as bright-eyed and cheerful as ever, despite getting out of bed only an hour-and-a-half after midnight.

"Wait a minute!" Triela exclaimed to Henrietta in surprise, "When did you get here?! Why aren't you in bed?!"

Henrietta smiled innocently and replied sweetly, "I woke up to go to the restroom and on my way back I saw the light on in here."

"It looks like you brushed your hair," Claes observed, wincing.

Henrietta nodded fervently, "Mm-hmm, I didn't want to barge in looking a mess, especially with Triela looking so nice."

"Aw, thank you Etta! Here, try one of Claes' tea cakes. She tells me it's a new recipe!"

"Hey," Claes mumbled nonplussed, throwing a narrow-eyed side glance at Triela, "You changed your mind too quickly…"

"Triela," Henrietta said, nibbling on a cake, "How did things go in Naples?"

"It was, well… how do I say this…" Triela suddenly became serious because she was debating in her mind whether or not to protect Henrietta from the truth. The truth was that she was dying, fading out in a pathetic wisp rather than going out in the aftermath of one last explosion as would be expected of her. She gritted her teeth.

Claes noticed her friend's anxiety. After living with her for years, she was able to pick up the subtle hints that indicated some kind of internal struggle within Triela; the slight flush in her face, the lack of eye contact, and the fact that one of her hands was hidden underneath the table in order to conceal a tight, trembling fist. She hid her stress well as there was no change in her countenance, but she couldn't fool her roommate. However, Claes didn't interfere. Instead, she sipped her tea coldly and nonchalantly, curiously awaiting the outcome of the struggle.

Triela suddenly smiled brightly and said, "It was fun! I… I had my first kiss!"

Henrietta gasped at first, amazed, but then she squealed in excitement and went off in a torrent of questions fueled by sugar and astonishment.

Claes, on the other hand, was more inwardly affected by the news, as her jaw dropped and her eyes widened almost comically and twitched slightly. Her hand gripping her tea cup had slowly begun to droop halfway between the saucer and her mouth, spilling its contents onto her nightgown like a caramel-covered waterfall, however, she didn't notice. Whatever vestige of calm and collectedness she had was gone, but nonetheless, deep inside, she was disappointed with her friend's choice…

"What do you think of her?" Chief Lorenzo inquired to Jean, still regretting the idea that he had implicitly voiced aloud.

Jean replied, equally doubtful, but also equally sure that this was their only option, "She has the most spotless record of anyone here. She's responsible, caring, and has the most adult outlook on her situation."

"Well that's all very nice, but… perhaps we should consider a second generation cyborg?" Lorenzo wondered, unsure of what to do.

"With all due respect, sir," Jean countered, "The problem with most of the cyborgs, especially the second generation, is that they behave appropriately for their age. She, on the other hand, does not."

"You're defending her quite avidly," the Chief noted.

"Sir, if she wasn't a cyborg, I would be inclined to offer her a job here."

"Well, that is saying a lot. You speak very highly of her. Do you have that much confidence in this girl?"

"I have confidence in her abilities and in the idea that she is the best candidate for this experiment."

"Hmm," the Chief mused, "Yes… why not make this an… 'experiment'?"

"I do have to say one thing, sir," Jean added as a warning.

"What is it, Jean?"

"Well, taking into account Angelica's lifespan and the marked deteriorations leading up to the end of it, the doctors have predicted that Triela is likely nearing the end of her life."

"Do you think this is true?"

"Hilshire has reported some troubling symptoms."

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, tired from the so-far sleepless night. "All the same," he said exhaustedly, "She is our best chance. And besides that, this should be an interesting experience for all of us."

Jean sighed, but couldn't argue. "…Agreed," he said after a slight pause, finally showing a hint of fatigue in his voice, "I'll inform Triela of her duties tomorrow."