THE PISTOL

Hecate watched the clock on the wall. 6:57, it read. She followed the hand that checked off the seconds with her blue eyes, filled with curiosity and quiet acceptance that the man who introduced himself to her had still not come for her as another day was reaching its end. She wasn't frustrated; not even sad, just interested why he wasn't there yet. It seemed to her like he left as soon as he arrived, and all she got out of it was a name and an explanation.

She regarded the empty syringe on her bedside table. Each day, a different man in scrubs came in and stuck her with that needle. She never asked what he was injecting her with, but it made her strangely sleepy. The next day, she couldn't remember a whole lot. The face of the person who introduced himself as Marco Togni was becoming dimmer and dimmer, and she hoped he would appear to refresh her memory, or else she would forget his face completely.

Hecate looked back at the clock. 7:01 PM. It would be time for sleep soon.

"I guess...he's not coming," she said, and sighed. She laid down in her bed with her eyes still on the wall clock, allowing her platinum blonde tresses to spill over the firm pillow beneath her head, when suddenly, she heard footsteps outside. Most likely another doctor in scrubs here to give her a shot. She sat upright, awaiting her visitor with a frown.

However, it was not a man in scrubs; quite the contrary. He was dressed in rather normal attire and held an oddly-shaped case — one to carry an instrument in, she assumed — in his right hand, and had his other one safely tucked away in his pocket. He grimaced when he looked at the young girl seat in the bed, and hesitated as he walked in, allowing the door to close behind him.

"I didn't think you would come, Mr. Togni," Hecate said, smiling slightly. "I almost forgot what you looked like."

Marco placed the black instrument case on the floor next to the girl's bed and sat down in one of the chairs. "Yeah, well..." he began tentatively, "I needed time to think about things. At least I didn't desert you completely, right?" He chuckled. The joke was lost on Hecate, who continued to smile as though it was the only thing she knew how to do.

Leaning over and lifting the case off the tiles, Marco placed it over his lap. He glanced at Hecate. "Let me tell you about your job." He opened it. Resting where a violin should be was a funny-looking object, something that registered in Hecate's mind as a gun, though it was hardly any sort of gun she'd ever seen. It was like a large black pistol, yet different. She couldn't summon up any words to explain its existence.

"This," Marco said, taking it out and holding it up for Hecate to see, "Is a Steyr MPi 81 submachine gun." She reached and touched it lightly, making a soft sound of intrigue. Marco snickered. "Take it, it's not loaded," he said, offering it to her. Hecate nodded diligently and accepted the SMG from him, observing it from different angles. It was very, very lightweight in her hands. Marco stood up and reached behind him, and revealed a more pistolesque gun, still in a jet-black color. Hecate put the SMG on the bed gently and took the pistol while Marco sat down, observing her and resting his head in his left hand.

"What is this one called?" she inquired, turning the barrel on her eye. Instinctively, Marco slapped the gun out of her hand, shocking her. She looked at him questioningly.

"Don't point it towards your eye, you'll kill yourself on accident," he said roughly. "Your eye is your only physically weak spot. Protect it at all costs during combat or else you'll become vulnerable to the enemy."

"O-oh..." she said, picking the gun up again, this time being careful not to direct it towards her eye. "S-so, what is this one called?"

"Steyr GB, it's a handgun," he answered shortly. For a moment, she was afraid she had touched a nerve, when he continued, "That and the MPi 81 will be your two primary weapons. I'm supposed to choose an assault rifle for you as well, but I...haven't gotten around to that yet." He averted his gaze. "Anyway, you'll begin weapons training in about a week. Then we'll get started on hand-to-hand combat."

"Are you going to leave me here?" she asked, trying not to make it sound like she was desperate.

"No, you're going back to the dorm. Make sure you become reacquainted with the other girls, they could really help you out in the future," Marco said. "Hand me the submachine gun." She obliged, and he stored it back in its case. He rose, also grabbing the pistol off the bed and putting it back on his belt loop. "Alright, let's go."

Her arms shaking slightly, Hecate gripped the corner of the bedside table with one hand and tried to push herself off the mattress, only to fall, hitting the floor. Marco made no move to assist her as she struggled to get up, her elbows wobbling dangerously before giving out on her a second time. "Could you help me into that wheelchair, Marco, sir?" she asked.

"Not used to the prosthetics, are you?" he grunted. "Forget the wheelchair, use these." He snatched a pair of crutches that had previously been resting against the opposite wall and handed them to his new protégée, who graciously took them.

Once she got to her feet, she turned to Marco and said, "It's funny, but... These prosthetics feel familiar, but I can't use them that well." She paused thoughtfully. "And you seem familiar also." She went after him out the door and down the hall, lagging a little. Marco ignored her and continued on, silently fighting with himself.

He suddenly stopped. "You'll be needing a haircut," he said.

"Why?"

"Because," he said, reaffirming his grip on the violin case and starting at his own pace again. "Just because. Your hair is too long, we'll need to trim it a bit. You could also stand for a new hairstyle. How does that sound?"

"That's...fine..." Hecate replied, brows furrowed. It was a look Angelica had given him several times: one of misunderstanding, confusion. He didn't want to see it, but he could feel her eyes bore into the back of his head like a drill. How unnerving.

They stopped in front of the elevator. Mutely, Marco pressed the button and waited until it chimed, signaling that the elevator had arrived to their floor. As the doors slid open, he immediately made out a German man wearing a black topcoat, a pair of jeans and a beret, while to his left was a German girl also sporting a beret, but instead matched a pair of olive green slacks and a sable longcoat with her attire. Both wore the same style of brown leather shoes, and they stood on opposite sides of the small room. The girl folded her arms and gave Marco a biting "hello".

He strolled inside and took his place beside the console of assorted buttons. Frantically, Hecate crossed over the threshold as if her life depended on getting inside before the doors shut. Once in, she muscled nervously between the man and the girl, and gazed up at the man with some kind of bizarre politeness. He seemed troubled, perhaps by his cyborg's disdain for being in his presence.

The doors closed and the elevator began to lower them to the ground floor. Marco seemed at a loss for what to say, and fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve, a bad habit he quit long ago but for some reason had decided to make a surprising comeback a little while after Angelica's death.

"So how are things, Germain?" he inquired, glancing at the German man. "Still working that murder/suicide case?"

"Not anymore," Germain answered. "We've managed to keep it tightly under-wraps. Section One will never suspect a thing."

"Hmm. You sound discouraged."

"It's nothing." As he made to look at his cyborg to his left, his eyes stopped rather suddenly on Hecate. He gave a jolt of surprise and shrieked, causing the girl to clamp her hands over her ears, though Hecate was unmoved and merely watched him, unblinking.

"Wow, that was loud!" she said, laughing a little. She turned to the longhaired girl next to her. "Umm...don't you think so?"

"No," was the quiet reply.

Another ding sounded and the doors opened. Immediately Germain and the unnamed girl walked out at a quick pace, leaving Marco and Hecate behind. Marco exited casually and waited for Hecate to catapult her legs across the grid. Once she did, he set off for the lobby, and idly noted the time on the wall: it was nearing eight o'clock. Curiously, Germain and his cyborg were nowhere to be seen, but Marco paid it little thought. He paused in front of the glass doors, leaning ever-so-slightly against one and allowing the wintry air to seep in and invade the heat of the room. For a moment, he entertained himself with the mental image of the cold launching an all-out assault upon the heat's territories. The clunking of Hecate's crutches let him know she was fast approaching, however.

In a few moments, they felt a frosty blast on their faces. A nearby parked car had hints of ice coating on the windshield. Luckily for Rome, however, it very rarely snowed during wintertime, so the most the handlers had to deal with was their cyborgs complaining of the outside temperature.

"Will we walk, sir?" Hecate asked, shivering. It was that moment when Marco realized that she was still wearing pants and a T-shirt supplied by the hospital.

"That depends. Do you feel up to walking all the way?"

"Well, no, not really...it's very cold."

"Then we'll drive."

"But how far are the dormitories from here? I really don't want you to go through the trouble..."

"Look at you, you're freezing," he said, unlocking his Fiat Coupé with his keys. "Wait there." He crossed over to the back seat, opened it, and placed the violin case on the seats. He closed the door gently and went around to the other side of the car, opening the passenger's side up. He beckoned Hecate. Tentatively, she tried to walk, leaning largely on the crutches for support. Marco's eyes widened behind his spectacles; she was showing much more improvement than any other cyborg had before.

He could've punched himself for that thought. Of course she'll improve faster, she's used to them, he mused bitterly. It was the same thing with Angelica when she got out of the hospital.

"Say, Hecate, can you play an instrument?" he asked. The blonde gazed upwards slowly, then shook her head.

"No," she replied. "Should I learn?"

"It...would be wise." He coughed. He still couldn't get the image of Clarice's indifferent expression when she emerged from the warehouse carrying Angelica's dead body when he looked at Hecate. "It can help you learn to use your prosthetics. Some of the, uh, other girls here know how to play violin and one or two girls can play the piano." He could've sworn there was a cello and a flute mixed in there somewhere, but it wasn't Marco's job to keep track of which instruments each cyborg played.

"So a violin?" Hecate said.

"I suppose so."

She had finally reached him. Marco moved out of the way as she climbed into her seat with some trepidation, and took the crutches, storing them in the back seat. He closed both doors and clambered into the driver's seat, starting the car and allotting some time for the engine to warm itself from its short dormancy. Hecate sat with her hands together in her lap, staring straight ahead as if in deep thought. He paid her no mind and kicked the car in reverse, backing out slowly, and then shifted gears once again.

Then: "Mr. Marco—"

"I told you, just call me 'Marco'," he corrected sharply. A second later he regretted acting so harshly towards her, for she stopped talking instantly. Attempting to reconcile, he added, "I... Sorry, go on."

"Marco, can I hold the pistol again?"

His eyebrows contracted in momentary surprise, but nevertheless, he reached behind him and grabbed the pistol from his belt. She took it, running her thumb over the barrel in some sort of twisted manner of worship, or something similar to it. Marco couldn't help but suppress a shudder, but said nothing to her and averted his gaze.

Neither said much else for the duration of the drive.

He got out, staring up at the two or so stories that made up the Agency's cyborg 'warehouse' (how he hated that word), as it was called. There were a few lights still on, coming from rooms he'd never been inside of. He opened the back seat and grabbed the crutches, shut the door for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that evening, and helped Hecate out. She parted with the handgun reluctantly, and started for the building while Marco was still at the car. He tossed the pistol into her seat and slammed the door with a little more force than he would've liked.

He crossed over quickly to Hecate's side and walked with her the rest of the way, the engine of his car rumbling behind them. Clearly he wasn't intending to stay long. Hecate opened one of the double doors by herself and went inside. There was not much; just a staircase going up and an opening in the wall that led to a deserted cafeteria. She frowned.

"Um... This is going to be difficult, isn't it?" she said.

"Here, give me your crutches."

Alarmed, she turned around, shock written upon her features. Marco nodded as if affirming what he'd said, and she asked, "Why?"

"Because you need to climb the staircase without them. I'll bring them up to you once you've gotten on the first floor."

Not entirely trusting, she went closer to the staircase before handing the first crutch to Marco, and then the other. Immediately her left hand went for the railing and her right on the wall, as if steadying herself. She took the first step up the stairs and looked down to see Marco standing at the base. He grinned despite himself and said, "I'll catch you if you fall, don't worry about it."

She nodded uneasily and took the next step, wondering if it might've been more difficult if she hadn't felt so comfortable with these so-called "prosthetics" (which she still felt were a little too lifelike to really be fake). With each step she took upwards, the floorboards beneath her foot creaked, and she winced.

Finally, she reached the top. She guided herself along the wall and leaned against it as Marco came up the stairs after her, doing it with remarkable speed that she felt put her to shame. He offered the crutches to her, but she declined.

"I'm going to see if I can get around without them," she said.

They traveled down the hallway, attempting to be as quiet as possible, until they finally arrived to a room. Marco took out his car keys again and examined each key attached to the metal loop. He tried a few keys before muttering, "Feels like it's been forever since I had to unlock this door..."

Eventually, he did get it, and Hecate stumbled inside the dorm, drenched in darkness and silence. She was able to easily locate the lightswitch and flicked it on. The room was very plain and standard, with a floor rug, a single bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. Curious, she walked carefully to it and opened its doors. Inside were about a dozen or more hanging dresses, all rather uniform in black and white. There were also many different shoes on the floor below them. On the sides, shelves, with folded shirts, pants, shorts, and skirts separated from each other. The clothes on the shelves seemed more bright and exuberant than the dresses.

She turned around and stared at Marco, one lightly-colored eyebrow lifted questioningly. "Did you buy all of this for me?"

He hesitated. "Well, er, kind of, I mean, they were for someone else... Look, okay, the clothes on the shelves are definitely yours, those dresses are hand-me-downs." Which I wish I hadn't decided to give to her, but it was money well-spent, he added as an afterthought.

Hecate seemed to accept his explanation, and shifted through the dresses slowly. "Do I have a nightgown of some sort in here?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's the white slip, right there." He pointed to it. She pulled it off the clothes hanger and examined it with curiosity, then gazed down at the hospital scrubs she was still wearing. She made a feeble sweeping gesture with her hand at Marco, and said, "Go out there, I want to change."

Though slightly bewildered by her sudden command, he obliged, leaving the crutches next to the door and then closing it. Outside in the hallway, he could hear sounds upstairs on the third level, and realized that not all the cyborgs were already asleep.

"I'm done, sir," she said, her voice muffled. He opened the door and re-entered. She beamed, as if expecting praise, and he frowned, unwilling to give it.

"Okay, listen up. Bathrooms are on the top floor. Don't go wandering around outside of this building. Try to make nice with the other girls, I'm sure they'll be the same to you if you are. Training starts in two weeks, which by then I'm sure you'll be accustomed to using your limbs. You will be getting your hair cut tomorrow. There's a cafeteria on the bottom floor if you get hungry. They serve breakfast, lunch, and dinner once every day," Marco explained. She watched him with rapt attention. He swallowed thickly and continued, "The other girls can probably teach you many things. And speaking of teaching, you'll be attending class in two weeks as well. School days are Monday-Friday, no exceptions."

"Yes, sir."

"Goodnight."