"My name is Mireille. Mireille Bouquet."


Gunslinger Girl

Life Goes On


Disclaimer: Gunslinger Girl and Noir are not mine.


Chronology: This story is set after the first season of Gunslinger Girl and several years after Noir. It is inspired by and incorporates elements from Nachtsider's various Gunslinger Girl fan fiction (the story Battlezone and the characters Meir, Liesel, Kathryn and Altheus) and Deathra's poem Daddy's Girl.


To Soldat #75664:Well, here is the official beginning of the Noir involvement. I hope you enjoy it and the coming chapter!


Fourth

Conditioning


She knew.

Like a condemned criminal on death row who admitted all too freely to her own guilt, she knew what was coming. She was neither despondent nor hysterical. Instead, she was curiously aloof. She was resigned to the inevitable, seeing no other path open to her save walking the green mile, had no choice except to accept things as they were.

She was going to die. One way or another, she was going to die.

Everyone tried to make her feel better. Triela spent so much time chatting with her that she could have replaced Rico as a roommate. The displaced girl's counterattack was Meir. His charming number mad her smile as if everything was still all right. Lacking Triela's volubility and Meir's charisma, Angelica opted for cheerful slapstick, intentionally tripping on her words– and, unintentionally, on herself. And Claes actually shook off the grip of her latest romance novel, dragged herself out of her room and Henrietta out of hers, and worked together on the vegetable garden all afternoon long.

Strangest was Liesel. Since she had her own separate apartment outside of and far from the compound, the other girls saw little of her outside missions. And while she did not possess Elsa's surliness, she was almost as aloof as Claes when it came to what she vaguely defined as "trivial matters." So while an unofficial visit executed on her initiative wasn't impossible, it was very unlikely.

But there she was that day, dressed in snappy civilian clothes and asking around for Henrietta. Triela's joke for the day was that if you asked Liesel what her reason was for visiting, the latter would answer perfunctorily, "Business and pleasure." Just like at the airport.

She found Henrietta and Rico in the cafeteria. Liesel promptly informed them that "Lunch is on me." The adventure had already been approved by the highest levels. At the bottom of the authorization document were Altheus and Jean's signatures.

Everything had been planned in advance. Exquisite attention was paid to the smallest details. Amadeo played chauffeur. Priscilla stood as their chaperone. Ferro was their shadow.

Lunch came and went awkwardly. While Liesel had extensively engineered this endeavor over the past few days and was quite eloquent in her own way, she somehow could not form anything more than a sentence. Ditto for Priscilla, who normally excelled at this but faltered now for no reason she could fathom. All their skills and experience had suddenly disappeared, leaving them to grope for straws.

Strangely, it was Henrietta who carried the day. She suggested the restaurant and gave advice as to the menu. (It turned out that she and Giuseppe had dined there several times in the past. That was cause for a grimace.) She tried five dresses, picked one, and got a bonnet and sandals to go along with it. And she smoothed things for her befuddled companions.

By the end of the day, it was Priscilla who needed cheering up.

"Are you all right?" Henrietta asked.

"Oh, yes, yes, I'm fine, fine."

A line Liesel expected, but not from their senior. She intervened. "You're holding up pretty well, Henrietta. You had me fooled there."

The girl didn't reply. Her silence spoke volumes.

"No? Then I'm right: you are worried." Liesel's eyes softened. "Why the happy façade?"

Henrietta looked at her fellow cyborg and at Priscilla. She asked:

"What else can I do?"

No one answered. Nothing was said. It was the sad truth. Nothing. Absolutely nothing could be done.

She was doomed.

"Don't worry," Henrietta suddenly volunteered. "There is something I can– am doing. And that is keeping me alive."

Both her companions regarded her with curiosity and awe. Even as the sun set below the horizon behind them, her smile dawned, taking them both into its radiance.

"I am waiting. I am waiting for him."


"You will come back, won't you?"

"Yes," he assured her. "One day, I'll come back for you."

And she held on to that assurance. She knew he always told the truth with her.

"But," he solemnly said. "You have to wait for me. It will be a long time before I come back. I might not even make it where I need to go."

"No." At that, she explained. "I know you'll make it to wherever you want to go, Giuseppe. And I know you'll come back for me." Her eyes shone with profound trust and admiration. "Because you know everything and can do anything."

He smiled at her. "And now I know I do."


"An accident?"

"Yes. Giuseppe's death was a matter of being at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"An accident," Jean repeated a bit disbelievingly.

"I understand your skepticism, Jean, but it's the truth. We've questioned the 'suspect', checked his records. He's just another truck driver down on his luck and behind his mortgage payments."

He knew that. It was just his standard operating procedure. Counter-terrorism was just a few steps down from outright espionage. Nothing was as simple as it seemed on the outside. There was always a hidden agenda, an ace in the hole. There was always something up with someone that everyone else didn't know, but should.

Like now. With him.

"With your permission," the bespectacled man in the lab coat said, "There is something we would like to try– if you can give us Henrietta for that purpose."

This was it, then. The issue he had prepared to fight. Jean deliberately allowed a half-interested stare. He could not allow his ulterior motives to show so easily. "What is it, Doctor Massi?"

Doctor Massi led Section Two's cybernetics department. Among other things, his group was responsible for developing and upgrading the mechanical body it. He reminded Jean of a feral dog nosing around the garbage bin.

"It is about a new conditioning drug we have just developed. This new drug is cutting edge, a full generation more effective than the current one in use. It achieves the same pain-killing effect and also improves the mechanical body's performance by a striking margin. But more importantly," Massi stressed, "it does far less damage to the cyborg's 'real' body. In effect, it has the capacity to at least double a cyborg's useful life span."

He allowed a moment of silence to allow his audience to digest his revelations before reluctantly adding: "At least, that is in theory and according to our best simulations so far."

"In theory, Doctor?" Jean tried to moderate his scorn. He mostly succeeded. "And according to your best simulations?"

"Yes, well, you see, we haven't tested it yet because we don't have a test subject."

"And you want Henrietta?"

"Yes. She is the most convenient– no," Massi corrected himself, "the best subject available."

"Why her?" Chief Lorenzo asked. "Why not someone else?"

"We were originally planning to use Angelica, but her handler Marco Toni raised strenuous objections. So did our esteemed colleague Dr. Bianchi. Our second choice, Claes, has just recently verified her capacity to operate independently of a handler– and most effectively, too. Using her would not only negate one of our objectives, but will also waste the special conditioning treatment already in effect with her and remove a perfectly useful agent from the field. And we do not have the budget available to create a new cyborg, not for a while. You know this, Jean."

He did. But that didn't mean he liked it.

"Henrietta does not have any of these problems. She has no handler." Massi failed to notice the brief tic on Jean's forehead at that. "She cannot be given a new one– at least, not with current methods. She is useless without one. The only cost we will incur is for the experiment itself, which is well within the budget."

"You mentioned objectives," Chief Lorenzo noted. "Just what do you want to accomplish with Henrietta?"

"Two things, Sir. First and foremost, we want to validate the new method's capabilities, especially concerning its effect on cyborg lifespan."

"And the second?"

"We want to see if we could completely undo a cyborg's bond with her handler."

Jean's eyes narrowed.

"As you know," Massi elaborated unnecessarily, "an important effect of conditioning is establishing a powerful bond between the cyborg and its handler. This is a failsafe to ensure the cyborg's loyalty. No sense in loosing a Frankenstein's monster on ourselves now, is there?

"However, this bond is also conditioning's greatest limitation. Not only does it make the cyborg overprotective of its handler, it also renders it emotionally and psychologically chained to him. It will do everything its handler orders it to do. In some cases, the relationship between cyborg and handler becomes so strong that the cyborg's thinking not only turns fanatical, but irrational. We have ample evidence of this from our experience with the Elsa Incident, do we not?"

The statement brought out the desired result. Everyone present except Jean blanched at that unpleasant memory.

It was the most extreme example of behavior brought upon by conditioning. Elsa de Sica had fallen deeply in love with her handler Lauro. When her affection had not returned in any way, she killed Lauro. Then she committed suicide.

Her actions had shaken Section Two to its core. Although the organization had mostly recovered, the event still left a bad taste in the mouths of everyone in the know. It had become one of the organization's greatest secrets. Even now, the true circumstances behind Elsa and Lauro's deaths were known only to a select few. Three were present. They did not know that others possessed the same secrets. One such 'outsider' to their circle was dead and just buried. Still another was the new Chief of Section One. (Coincidentally, his partner– and now wife– was also in the know.)

And unknown to the men gathered in that room, the fate of a final, secret confidante was currently at stake.

"The loss of a cyborg is always possible–even remotely acceptable. But the loss of a handler is something we've anticipated but never really given thought to. Certainly not in the manner and magnitude with what happened to Giuseppe. Raballo's death–" again that glimmer in Jean's eyes at what seemed such an unimportant detail "– was bad enough. We had to completely erase Claes' memories and sideline her for more than a year.

"Henrietta's case is far worse. Claes partnered with Raballo for only a few months. In comparison, Henrietta and Giuseppe worked together for years. Additionally, they were very emotionally close. Finally, Henrietta was a first-hand witness to the events leading to her handler's death.

"Simply put, there is too much history between them. The amount of normal conditioning we will need to erase all those memories would not just severely damage her. It might even kill her.

"Her only hope is our new treatment. It's a 50-50 thing, but it's her best– her only way to remain useful to us," Massi finished, "and it is one I hope you will take."

"I'll take this matter under serious consideration," Chief Lorenzo assured at last after a significant pause. "I'll call another meeting to confirm it."

The doctor politely withdrew from the office. Only Jean was left with the Chief. He knew what was coming.

"Jean. I know how you and Giuseppe never really seemed to see eye-to-eye, but were actually very close. I know you want to stand in his place and protect this girl for him. But there is no helping this situation. You keep on saying that Section One is a counter-terrorist force and not a non-profit organization; that the mechanical bodies are not normal girls or even human, but weapons. Well, one of those weapons is useless right now. We have to fix it, fix whatever problem it has and get it working again. We can't allow ourselves to carry emotional baggage. Neither can Henrietta."

"I understand. I will abide by your decision. It would have been the same decision I would make in your situation."

"I know you know what this costs me. And I'm sorry for your brother, too. He was a good man."

"I know."


Rico and Meir were surprised to find Jean standing alone in the corridor. The former was about to run over to her handler, but the latter held her back. And despite her conditioning, the blonde girl somehow could not bring herself to resist her Israeli friend outside of a surprised query.

"Meir?"

"Don't. Let him be, Rico. He needs to be alone."

Only slightly reluctantly, she did what he asked of her. Together, they watched.


Fists balled and mouth an inviolable line, Jean stood alone.

In his mind, he could see a figure regarding him. The man wasn't sad, not at all.

Still, Jean could not face the ghost of his brother.

"I wasn't able to protect her. I tried, but it wasn't enough. I wasn't strong enough for her– for you.

"You were always the stronger of us, Giuseppe," Jean admitted. "Always was."


The operating table was cold and hard, nothing like her bed. But its starkness was utility. No frills, no distraction.

Straps held her in place. It was a last-minute precaution. One of the doctors had voiced out his concern that Henrietta might go berserk and attempt to escape. Handily forgotten was the fact that the girl had earlier been loaded with enough conditioning to last her for days. At least they weren't tight. Bianchi made sure of that.

Massi would perform the operation. He was all professionalism, as if simply dissecting a frog instead of practically snuffing out a sentient being's existence. Henrietta held nothing against him. He was only doing his job. It was the same with her, after all, even though it felt so far away now.

Bianchi was there as adjutant. The familiar face was craggy with concern. He could not meet her eyes half the time. She tried a reassuring smile, but her gesture only made him more uncomfortable. She understood and closed her eyes instead– but not before looking to her right, at the one-way mirror hiding their audience.


Two blondes stared from behind the glass. One was Jean. The other was not Rico. The cyborg was holed up with Meir in the dorm room she shared with Henrietta. They were praying.

"What will you name her?" Jean asked his companion.

She told him.


"Being the procedure," Massi coolly announced.

The loss of feeling barely registered. It wouldn't matter. In just a few minutes more, she would be gone. As if she had been there in the first place.

Crowding upon the edge of her consciousness were all these questions. Wasn't she alive? Didn't she exist still? Why was she not fighting? Didn't she want to live? Didn't she make a promise to someone that she would live for him?

She would have shaken her head at them– at herself. Why just now? It was too late to change anything. The die was cast. She had crossed her Rubicon. There was no turning back.

There was only sweetly invincible oblivion.

Only death.

Yet in those final moments of lucidity, she found herself trying to feel something. Anything. Just to reassure her one last time that she had been– was alive.

And there it was. She felt something. Something deep and comforting and… sad.

She was sad.

And she didn't know why.


"You'll never forget me, will you?"

"Giuseppe…"

"I know you won't forget me, Henrietta. Still–"

"I won't. I promise."

"Me, too."


It was all Bianchi could do to keep his composure.

His patient was smiling. Despite– not because of, but despite– the conditioning that was slowly erasing her memories, despite the fading knowledge that her very person was being violated, despite her dying, she was smiling.


"Giuseppe."


She pushed through the double doors, made her way past them and into the blackness. The cavernous hall was dark and unfamiliar. She felt rather than saw her way through it, relying upon something she couldn't exactly define –Foresight? Instinct? Faith?- to guide her to whatever– to whoever it was that she sought.

And there he was. The man held his arms out to her in welcome. His handsome features found her easily despite the darkness. His smile called out to her compellingly, powerfully.

"Henrietta."

Henrietta?

"Come here," he urged. "Come here, Henrietta."

But she didn't know who he was. He was a stranger. Why should she do what he asked of her?

"Remember me. Don't forget me."

But how could she have forgotten? There wasn't anything to forget. Was there?

"Henrietta."

And who was Henrietta? She didn't know anyone by that name. She was–

She stopped.

What is my name?

Who am I?

A familiar thunder startled her, broke the silence. Slowly the man before her fell to the ground and lay still.

He was dead.

And she felt…

Sad.

She didn't know why, but she was sad.

She turned to stare at his killer. At the blonde girl not much older than her. At green eyes that knew nothing of what their owner had done. At the gun leveled in her direction, aimed at her heart.

"Kill me," the girl who was called Henrietta whispered. "I cannot live without him. So, please, kill me. Please"


Again a gunshot shattered the silence.


She shuddered. Then something was tugging at her. Pulling her downwards. She tried to jerk away from it at first, tried to fight it off but found her body unresponsive. And then she simply surrendered, followed that insistent invisible nagging by toppling to the floor, joining the man from earlier.

A thought came to her.

This is wrong.

Why, she didn't know.

Her hand lay limp just inches away from his outstretched own. She would have reached for it had she possessed the strength of body and mind. And she did. She wondered why she bothered.

As she slowly died, she noticed one last thing. She thought her killer looked…

Sad.


"Why are you sad?"


The girl woke up to a white ceiling and a bland room. Her bed was spartan but comfy. The air was cold and clean, the kind found in a hospital.

She sat up to stare at nothing in particular and to wait.

Nothing happened.

She felt nothing.

She was not alone. The woman sitting at her bedside was tall and blonde. Green eyes watched her intently. Their intensity mystified her. Why the stare? Was something wrong with her?

"Henrietta?"

Not knowing what else to do, wondering if that was indeed her name, the girl nodded in affirmation.

The woman did not return the gesture. Neither did she try to smile.

"My name is Mireille. Mireille Bouquet."


Tsuzuku


Corsica's daughter enters the life of a fellow orphan– and discovers just how much they share. Next on Life Goes On: Mireille.