Scenes that don't fit anywhere else

Sometimes you've got a great idea for a scene, but for whatever reason it just doesn't fit into anything you're working on.

May this thread be a repository for all these ideas that might otherwise fade away unused.

To start things off I offer this:
Angelica was already gone by the time Marisa came on-line, but Elio did have one face to face meeting with her. This scene occurs during the worst of her struggles with declining health & problematic memory, which is same the time Elio was in an alcoholic tailspin after the death of his first cyborg, Marina.

Spoiler:

That was great, Voodoo.

Funny, Rachel and Fernando knows how to fly (her learning on gliders) but I never used that aspect of their abilities yet.

Honestly, Voodoo - that's perfect. You've just cut through and pinned down the character exactly. It's enviable, it really is.

I doubt that it can compare, following on from that, but this is a 'downtime' segment between missions where Avise is called out on his family history that doesn't really fit with the mood of any of my upcoming stories.

Spoiler:

ElfenMagix wrote: Rachel and Fernando knows how to fly (her learning on gliders) but I never used that aspect of their abilities yet.

That's good to know. How is Fernando with helicopters? I needed a chopper co-pilot for Giuseppe in one episode and came up dry so I just eventually gave the front passenger seat to Avise Mancini and had him humming Wagner and not touching anything.

Can we expect an aerial adventure from these F&R soon?

Robert Frazer wrote:this is a 'downtime' segment between missions where Avise is called out on his family history that doesn't really fit with the mood of any of my upcoming stories.

Damn! I feel like I'm rank with sweat after that one! You've really given Ferro some claws here...I wonder what kind of context you were considering to set up an attack like that (although, that may have been why it didn't fit in anywhere else).

Short though it is this scene lives up to your reputation for complex, metaphor filled prose.

Excellent idea Voodoo, particularly since...

Professor Voodoo wrote:Angelica was already gone by the time Marisa came on-line, but Elio did have one face to face meeting with her. This scene occurs during the worst of her struggles with declining health & problematic memory, which is same the time Elio was in an alcoholic tailspin after the death of his first cyborg, Marina.

...it would have been a real shame to let that go to waste.

Great little bit of writing on a number of levels, firstly the look a Angie's family's declining financial situation through the eyes of a child. The little markers like the cook and cleaner being dismissed. I wonder if her parents were always that horrible, or if it is at least in part stress.

She searched the entire room, and then walked down the long sterile halls under flickering fluorescent lights. She passed through glass doors and down a concrete path that led across vast, dark lawns, all the time looking for Perro.

Tiesto has done less smooth transitions then this. Sorry, but it's the only way I can describe how well you blended Angie's memories and imaginings into the SWA environment. You know the change happened, you're just not sure when.

Alboreto felt he was walking straight & true, but his whole office disagreed, wobbling unpredictably. "Stupid goddamn walls"

Indeed, how dare they spin like that... especially when you're too drunk to stand straight as it is.

Awww shit, thought Alboreto, this one's the prototype...what's her name?

That just cracked me up.

The younger man noticed this and revised his on-the-spot assessment of the drunken man. This guy is clued in...maybe he does have something to offer. The ex-NOCS man softened his tone and explained "Look, she's having difficulties with her conditioning and sometimes these episodes just happen. If she ever seeks you out again just give me a call and I'll take care of it."

Nice, from memory Marco was lashing out at pretty much everyone during that time period, so having him soften in the light of Elio's perception is a good way of setting up the personalities of each character and, moreover, Elio's competency.


@Robert
Gonna have to back Voodoo here in wondering what happened in order for Ferro to bring the claws out. While she's definately "no bullshit" I'd never pictured her as catty or truly nasty. However, from the last few lines I gather there was good reason for it and that she was putting Avise in his place for one reason or another. Some unsolicited advance perhaps?

"Hey," Avise tipped his head towards Ferro with a conspiratorial wink and a sly smile, "drinking from the carton is a privilege of bachelorhood."

I did enjoy this bit of bravado out of Avise, fitting for his character and, more importantly perhaps, sets the whole scene up for the fall and fury later on.

"You really are full of yourself, aren't you?"

Well, yeah... but in the best way possible

As usual Robert I have epic difficulty picking holes in your work, or, for that matter; isolating parts for praise. Because what I really want to do is throw the whole thing in a quote box with a "" emoticon behind it.

Professor Voodoo wrote:

ElfenMagix wrote: Rachel and Fernando knows how to fly (her learning on gliders) but I never used that aspect of their abilities yet.

That's good to know. How is Fernando with helicopters? I needed a chopper co-pilot for Giuseppe in one episode and came up dry so I just eventually gave the front passenger seat to Avise Mancini and had him humming Wagner and not touching anything.

Fernando's been know to barrow (without permission) Old Nessie... An old NYPD Patrol chopper based on the Bell 47 unit used in the 1970s-80s. Its now mainly used for training of police Aviation Patrol Pilots, and should be retiring soon. One time he barrowed it with an empty fuel tank and had to land it in the middle of Flatbush Avenue... Cursing out God, everything under existence and and the officers who handcuffed him for shutting down 1/2 of Brooklyn. Least to say, his supervisor was not happy about it either.


I would assume he's humming Flight of the Valkyries...?

Professor Voodoo wrote:Can we expect an aerial adventure from these F&R soon?

Its in the works. But when remains to be seen.

However, from the last few lines I gather there was good reason for it and that she was putting Avise in his place for one reason or another. Some unsolicited advance perhaps?

Well, I don't really know, which is part of the reason why this is a scene that doesn't fit anywhere else! When Avise is "clenching and unclenching his fists" in that scene, he's debating whether or not to snap the impudent Milani's scrawny pencil-neck like a twig... although I suppose it could be the foreplay to some furious back-clawing head-hammering crushing passionate hatesex, depending on the sort of the story it ends up being slotted into.

I'll buy that for a dollar

Robert Frazer wrote:

However, from the last few lines I gather there was good reason for it and that she was putting Avise in his place for one reason or another. Some unsolicited advance perhaps?

Well, I don't really know, which is part of the reason why this is a scene that doesn't fit anywhere else! When Avise is "clenching and unclenching his fists" in that scene, he's debating whether or not to snap the impudent Milani's scrawny pencil-neck like a twig... although I suppose it could be the foreplay to some furious back-clawing head-hammering crushing passionate hatesex, depending on the sort of the story it ends up being slotted into.

Admittedly I saw it as possibly the other way around, in that perhaps Avise had done something that Ferro was unimpressed with. Hence she was stomping on him before it went to far.

The closest I have is the opening of a story idea titled "Ni Hao [你好]"  (Hello) that would have had a really hot Chinese intelligence agent visit Rome to cooperate on a mission to take down one of the Chinese Triads operating in Milan...

----------------

Michele and Kara stood at a gate inside the Terminal C satellite of Rome’s Leonardo da Vinci-Fiumicino airport and watched an Air China Boeing 747-400M taxi into position and stop. Kara turned to survey the terminal as the jetway connected to the plane and her head snapped back as she heard Michele’s sharp intake of breath.

She returned her focus to the jetway doors as a young and beautiful Asian woman in a black A-Line dress with a wide, square neckline and black leather dress boots walked off and into the gate area. Her nearly waist-length black hair fell down her back and forward over both shoulders and her flawless skin glowed and her brown irises gleamed.

She made eye contact with Michele and a smile crossed her face. Kara reached for Michele’s hand and she could feel his accelerated heart-rate. The woman walked forward to Michele.

“Mister Pagani?” she asked, and Michele nodded.

“幸会,” she greeted in Mandarin, bowing effortlessly at the waist. “I am Mei Lau with the People's Armed Police Force, Interpol liaison division,” she said in fluent Italian.

“幸会,” Michele replied and Kara caught the faint stress in his pronunciation. “This is Kara Michelle, also with the Intelligence and Democratic Security Service.”

Kara bowed in greeting.

“You are Asian?” Mei asked.

“Japanese,” Kara replied. “I met Michele while a student at the University of Milan and decided to become a member of the Intelligence services.”

Michele had studied Mei’s file and knew that she was a Shang Wei in the PAPF (equivalent to Capitano in the Carabinieri). He also knew she was 27 and in addition to speaking fluent Italian, she also knew French, German and English. Upon graduation from middle school at age 18, Mei attended four weeks of military training prior to entering Peking University. She majored in International Law and Criminology and while at university learned of the Italian school of criminology put forward by Cesare Lombroso and his disciples Enrico Ferri and Raffaele Garofalo. She’d travelled to Europe during her studies and visited many famous universities in Italy, France and Great Britain. Upon graduation, her linguistics and foreign relations skills funneled her to service with the People's Armed Police and she enlisted as a Shao Wei (Sottotenente) assigned first working with the Hong Kong Police and Macau Security Force and then later moving into the Interpol division.

“Are you armed?” Michele asked.

“My weapon is in my checked baggage,” Mei replied.

“Are you still using the Type 77?” Michele asked.

“In general, yes, though I’m one of the first people using the new QSW-06,” she replied.

“That’s the one that fires 5.8x21mm, correct?” Kara asked.

“Yes. It uses a high-velocity armor-piercing round to defeat body armor. Once in the body, the bullet yaws violently which creates a larger and more grievous wound track then a 9x19mm round.”

“Ah. It reminds me of the 5.7x28mm ammunition Henrietta’s FN P90.”

They boarded the “Skybridge Shuttle” tram to Terminal C and proceeded to Passport Control. Michele led her through a door into a room designed for use by diplomats visiting Italy or the Holy See. Michele showed the Polizia di Frontiera agent his identification and the agent stamped Mei’s service passport and they proceeded on into the terminal proper and Baggage Claim. Mei retrieved her suitcase and Michele used his credentials to waive them through Customs.

From there, they made their way to a special section of the multi-story parking area reserved for government officials. Kara removed a key-fob from her jacket and pushed a button. A few cars down, the lights of a metallic dark gray Maserati Quattroporte Executive GT blinked and the doors unlocked.

Kara strode forward, opening the back passenger door for Mei, who thanked her as she sank into the luxurious leather seat. Michele slipped in beside her through the left door as Kara moved to the driver’s seat.

They pulled out of the airport onto the A91 into Rome.

---

When they arrived at the Compound, Ferro escorted Mei to meet with Pieri Lorenzo and Jean Croce.

“I knew I should have taken the Interpol Entrance Examination,” Hilshire noted after Ferro and Mei were out of sight.

Triela moved to kick him in the shins, but missed and hit the edge of the solid oak desk Michele moved in to replace the cheap government issue crap. She proceeded to hop on one foot, holding the other in her hands and cursing up a storm under her breath.

Kisk, that ending was funny.

Here is a scene I wrote when I was writing Solution's Resolution, but it seemed not to fit anywhere in any of the current stories of the time.

Spoiler:

To end this scene, Rachel would come out and help put away the glider in a rented hanger.

Addition, in fact, this section was to fall about 1 weeks time of chapter 31 in Solution's Resolution; when Fernando and Ferro were discussing glider schools/clubs for Rachel and in Chapter 32 when Fernando and Marco was talking about the subject as well.

This thread hasn't gotten much love lately, so here's something I whipped up during a long offshore job whe I was seperated from my Suzuki.

Riding to Work

Although it had been a difficult & annoying ride getting out of the city Michele Pagani immediately cast off any regrets about taking his bike to work as soon as he escaped the confines of Rome. There existed an 18 kilometer stretch of wide open sweeping turns, steep hills and even a few first-gear hairpins on his route to the SWA Special Operations compound, a length of road to which the Polizia were infrequent visitors. As the last patches of morning fog burned away Michele did his best to explore the performance limits of his MV Agusta F4 Tamburini, grinning in his helmet to find that the bike's capabilities far exceeded his own.

Coming up on each corner at well above the posted limit, careful to avoid the remaining damp patches on the pavement, Pagani squeezed the front brake lever gently to scrub off speed, not fully releasing it until he passed the apex and rolled back onto the gas. The front end lifted ever so slightly, pushing him wide so he shifted his weight forward to keep the chassis balanced as the motorcycle straightened and picked up speed. 120kph...140...160...180...the Agusta accelerated with a ferocity that would have inspired the envy of any four-wheeled vehicle in his stable and the howl that emanated from four separate exhaust canisters under his seat made him disappointed that he eventually had to roll off the throttle. At this speed the next turn came up fast, this one a tight left-hander so Pagani dropped down two gears and let the engine braking provide assistance to the powerful Brembo calipers up front. Feeling playful he gave the bars a yank and allowed the front wheel to rise up on exit, riding a graceful power wheelie until he had to toe the rear brake in anticipation of the next corner.
That was all the high speed fun he was to have that morning; as Michele crested the next hill he spotted a familiar yellow Vespa in his path. Rather than exploit the immense power & speed advantage of his 998cc four-cylinder superbike to pull off a pass he fell in behind Priscilla for the final two kilometer ride to work, following close behind her pink helmet. The Intel analyst was keeping up a rather good pace in spite of only having a 150cc single cylinder engine beneath her.
At the gate, as Michele waited his turn to show his ID, he heard the sound of another bike behind him. Glancing in his mirror he saw Elio Alboreto's big Ducati ST4S roll up and gave a welcoming wave without turning around. This trio of Italian motorcycles seemed to sing together as they made the short trip to Section Two's parking lot; the cheerful ringing of Priscilla's two-stoke single, the 4-cylinder snarl of Michele's own mount and the booming pulse of Alboreto's V-twin creating a music that suited the clear morning perfectly. It seemed a shame to shut the engines down when they cruised into the complex together and parked together in one spot, but the morning staff meeting would not wait forever.
Priscilla was the first to get her helmet off. "You surprised me, Michele, I was expecting to get sucked into your vortex" she joked.

"I'd had my fun for the morning" Pagani replied with a shrug. "You were keeping a pretty good pace...I wonder how you'd do on a proper motorcycle."
This time it was Priscilla's turn to shrug. "None of my friends away from work ride...but I admit I've lingered near the bike shop windows, daydreaming about a Ducati Monster 620 or an Aprilia Shiver 750."
Victor Hillshire had arrived just a few minutes earlier and joined the conversation with a suggestion of something German. "A BMW F800 might work well for you..."
"Yeah, they're nice" she sighed, "but I've already got a German car." She ran her fingers over the iconic curves of her Vespa PX150 and continued "For a bike I really feel motivated to have something stylish & Italian." The two other handlers, owners of MV Agusta & Ducati cycles tried their best to contain smug grins.
Rolling his eyes Hillshire admitted defeat. "I'll never understand it. We Germans build a machine that's a triumph of engineering & reliability and you Italians still choose the thing you know is going to break down three times in the first month because it looks sexier." He directed his last jab at Pagani, asking "Is your F458 back from the shop with the new non-flammable glue yet?"
"It was covered under warranty" grumbled Michele, determined not to let his colleague get under his skin so early in the morning.
"So what about it guys?" Priscilla steered them back onto topic, "If I do buy a bigger bike I don't want to go riding all alone. Do you two ever go out riding together?"
Pagani just laughed, and motioned to Elio to begin the story. "We tried once" the half-Englishman grumbled with a grin of his own. "Michele here had just gotten his F4 and was eager to take it out for a good long run, and it was a nice day for it...but it was a work day. We knew Ferro would pitch an unholy fit if we knocked off early to go riding."
"So we signed out under the auspices of conducting a recon survey" Pagani contributed. "We got in about 300 good kilometers but then my upper back just started killing me."
"Yes," agreed Alboreto, "as mind-numbingly fast as his MV Agusta is, it makes a very poor touring mount. We switched bikes for a while so he could rest a bit on my bigger, roomier ST4S but we only got another 80km before we decided to stop for one beer."
"Unfortunately the friendly between Liverpool FC & Juventus was on in the bar..."
"Which the Reds took 2-1 in double-overtime" injected Elio.
Michele continued "...so we stayed for a more than one. Since it went double overtime we ended up having a few too many and decided it wasn't smart to ride back. As calling home and letting Ferro know we went out and got loaded on our recon survey was not optimal I called Kara." As if on cue, Pagani's cyborg showed up at his side to wish him good morning before heading her session at the outdoor range. "I left a message with her room-mate that she was to grab my keys and a pre-signed pass from my office and come pick us up...unfortunately the message got a little screwed up."
"Ilaria screwed it up!" Kara defended herself, "I followed your instructions to the letter as I understood them!"
"Yes," muttered Michele, "so an hour later Kara pulls up at the taverna...on her own Ducati 848."
With everyone laughing Kara protested "All Ilaria told me was that you two went out on motorcycles and wanted me to meet you at some address! I just assumed you wanted me on a bike too."
Alboreto finished. "So Kara ended up staying and having a few drinks with us and eventually we had to call Ferro for a ride. Ye gods, she gave us hell for a whole month after that."
"On that note, you have to get your butt out to the range," Michele told Kara, putting his arm around her and giving a good-luck kiss on the forehead. "And we've got the morning staff meeting in 5 minutes" said Elio. "See you inside."

That was fantastic. Just the thing to start my day with a smile.

Very nice!

Great contributions Crazyidiot78, Professor Voodoo, Elfenmagix, Robert Frazer, Kiskaloo.
I enjoyed how each scene brought out something different, as I read them submerging myself in each scenario and dialogue among the people involved. In short, I likes it!
(although I gotta say it)
AGHH! Professor V, you're killin' me! Your 1st contribution made me all melancholy an stuff, so much so that afterward I had to intake large quantities of Cheese, Chocolate and Chicken just to pick me up again!
(washed down with plenty of store-brand soderrrr, that always gets me going )
When I 'saw' through your writing, hapless Angie wandering lost in her past, arriving at Elio's room, who himself is also lost in his anguish/stupor, I couldn't help but feel as though something other than mere chance was taking place, helping the little girl reach his door. I felt as if there was some one or something greater than the individual players of this sad drama directing each one to that focal point, so that a greater understanding of what it means to be alive can be had.
My mind seemed to expand reading your short but none the less powerful contribution.
Then again, I was snorting too much Vicks Vapor Rub again...........

No seriously though, great work.

Professor Voodoo wrote:"I'd had my fun for the morning" Pagani replied with a shrug. "You were
keeping a pretty good pace...I wonder how you'd do on a proper
motorcycle."

Are you really sure it's a good idea to give her something with more power? Something tells me that, at least fanon wise: Priscilla falls into the "mad Italian" school of driving.

"Unfortunately the friendly between Liverpool FC & Juventus was on in the bar..."

I take it that one went a little better than the 1985 game...

Either way, Jethro would have been happy to see The 'Pool win.


Excellent piece of fluff (and I mean that in the nicest way possible) mate: made waiting for someone's delayed plane at the airport today much more bearable.

Are you really sure it's a good idea to give her something with more
power? Something tells me that, at least fanon wise: Priscilla falls
into the "mad Italian" school of driving.

Eh, I don't know - after all, her personal vehicle is a new-generation Beetle, which must surely be one of the girliest, pansiest cars ever modelled.

Robert Frazer wrote:

Are you really sure it's a good idea to give her something with more
power? Something tells me that, at least fanon wise: Priscilla falls
into the "mad Italian" school of driving.

Eh, I don't know - after all, her personal vehicle is a new-generation Beetle, which must surely be one of the girliest, pansiest cars ever modelled.

Who knows maybe she just needs to feel the power between her legs. I could see it happening after a test ride with Michelle or Elio.

Misparsed that above comment. BRB, cleaning out sinuses...

Robert Frazer wrote:

Are you really sure it's a good idea to give her something with more
power? Something tells me that, at least fanon wise: Priscilla falls
into the "mad Italian" school of driving.

Eh, I don't know - after all, her personal vehicle is a new-generation Beetle, which must surely be one of the girliest, pansiest cars ever modelled.

Different culture, different cars. Small vehicles are good for overcrowded cities with narrow roads. Doesn't mean those driving them aren't maniacs, as Thai moped taxis will gladly demonstrate.

Odon wrote:Different culture, different cars. Small vehicles are good for overcrowded cities with narrow roads. Doesn't mean those driving them aren't maniacs, as Thai moped taxis will gladly demonstrate.

To be fair: the first gen New Beetle came with a fake flower in a vase on the dashboard... it really was trying to be girly.

That said: I think it's actually easier to drive like a maniac in a small car than it is in a large one

The Gunnery Sergeant who put the most fear of God into me during my stint in the Corps (can you say "3-hour endurance PT sessions, with smelling salts for those who fall out?" Good!" said that his dream car was one of the newer Mini Coopers. Not something you expect from a man who could have been an extra in 300, and who honestly thought of himself as a modern-day centurion, to include occasionally snatching up Marines for sword-and-shield drill.

I have imagined this scene several times with some variations.
I see myself being a handler walking over to Lauro and Jose who are in the bar where the two got to know one another briefly.
Jose: Hey Treme, have a seat.
Treme: Thanks.
Lauro: Hi, you're pretty new at the agency right?
Treme: Yeah, that I am.
I over heard you guys talking about your 'partners'.
Lauro: That's right, Jose here seems to feel they are to be treated the same as us.
Treme: I was that way at first too you know, Lauro.
Jose: Really? What made you change?
Treme: One time, Carmen my cyborg asked me on the way back from a mission what her 'mommy and daddy' were like and I proceeded to tell her a sanitized scenario in which they cared for her greatly until they were killed in an automobile accident at which point they died instantly, feeling no pain.
Several days later, she apparently went in my office, rummaging about and found the files on her parents discovering the truth.
The mechanical child was inconsolable, so much so that she was a disaster on the following mission, prompting Jean to conclude that she was essentially useless in that state and was consequently given a complete re-write. I've been told the end is probably not too far away.
Lauro's way may seems harsh Jose, but I don't know that I can on one hand, care for her as if she were only a child and on the other send her to kill like a murdering machine.
Almost since day one she has experienced suffering and now we are simply using what's left of her.
Jose: All the more reason to give her the respect she lacked when she was human. We owe them that much. Also, may I suggest in the future you lock the cabinet with personal data? I do.
Treme: ....
Lauro: Jose, they are not human any more. These cyborgs may have been kids at one point, but now they are more machine than human being.
Treme: I can tell you the more sorry I felt for Carmen, the more I treated her like a normal child and consequently kept her reaching for something she'll never be again.
Jose: I can understand why you are saying this, but I cannot bring myself to see Henrietta as a mere so called weapon.... (in a lower voice) Even if my own brother actually sees things that way.
(looks at his empty cup remembering his little sister, lost in thoughts he does not wish to verbalize)
Lauro: Come on Jose, here, have another drink. You know, even though you don't think like Treme and I, you're an ok guy.
Treme: Here, here!
Jose: Well, I guess there's that.
Lauro: Like Kennedy once said: 'Let's not be blind to our differences.'
Thinking about this conversation, I can't help but reflect on how Jose's fate was somewhat similar to Lauro, shot by his own cyborg.

This is part of the as yet to be published chapter detailing the girls recovery. i might still include this but I probably won't.



“Are you sure you don’t need any help Dr. Akagi,” a nurse asked one last time as she left the operating room.

“Yes we will be fine this is a routine procedure,” Ritsuko replied.

“Are you certified to use the laser,” the nurse asked still hesitant about the whole affair.

“I have a M.D. P.H.D. in Biochemical Engineering, I think I know how to use a medical laser,” Ritsuko shot back.

“But,” the nurse stammered as Ritsuko pushed her out the door.

“But, nothing, look I built one of these while I was in college for a masters thesis if it makes you feel any better,” Ritsuko said shutting the door. It was more like helping Misato build a particle beam cannon but who’s complaining.

@ CI

Here are some parts that got axed when i decided to rewrite the latest chap.

Spoiler:

this next segment will still be used but heavily redacted removing some of the more humerous parts

Spoiler:

Sounds cool CI, I liked it!

I don't really have any 'bits that don't go anywhere else.' If I hang onto something long enough, I always find someplace for it.

In the interest of keeping this poor neglected forum a going concern, though, may I offer this: a snippet from a story idea I once started about a couple of Fratelli traveling to America for a joint operation with the CIA. The SWA doesn't explain anything about the young girls attending the Italian intelligence agents, which of course piques the Company's interest.

And another quick one, the final fight between Pino and Triela, told from an objective omniscient POV, originally intended as the ending to 'Porcupine Love':

You have a real talent for writing Scarredman. I only had a quick read as my time is very sparse, but that was really evocative, easily creating action packed images in my mind.

 STORY REMOVED BY ODON

Sorry to see this titled "never-completed fic." Am curious where it's going.

taerKitty wrote:Sorry to see this titled "never-completed fic." Am curious where it's going.

Nowhere, unfortunately.  It was meant to lead into an emotive Hilshire/Triela fic, but after writing ten thousand words of rubbish I realised I couldn't make it work. Hence it being posted here.

taerKitty wrote:Sorry to see this titled "never-completed fic." Am curious where it's going.

You and Thescarredman have inspired me to give this one another try, so I've removed it for now.

For your enjoyment here's the start of an A.D. Police story that I never bothered to continue, probably because I never joined a Bubblegum Crisis forum. I know it doesn't really belong here but the girl has a mechanical body, so...

---

Voomer. n.  an android created from protein, biocircuitry and man-made internal organs, programmed with artificial intelligence.
 
Cyborg (see also 'Borg' or 'Voomeroid'). n. 1. any human or animal whose artificial components consist of more than 70% of their vital organs.  2. (slang). an individual who acts as a tool of higher interests.  3. (slang). a person of cold demeanor and machine-like precision.
 
AD (Advanced) Police. n. 1. specialist division of the Japanese National Police formed in 2020 to combat political terrorism and rogue voomer activity.  2. To A.D. vb (slang). to blunder into a situation, to make a situation worse by ones' intervention, to use excessive force to resolve an issue.
 
 
Cn/Fleshdeath
 
Her eyes looked enormous through the telescopic sight.
 
They were deep blue, infinitely deep as oceans.  Moist and trembling with barely-repressed emotion, like a character from a shoujo manga, she stared as if sensing the gunsite, bewilderment and fear written on her face.  Rain flowed down her high cheekbones, akin to tears.
 
Lieutenant Tsukiko Takemura clicked back the magnification, expanding her field of view to take in more of the girl's features.  Jet-black hair, a red scarf, the sailor-like uniform of a schoolgirl.  The downpour had plastered the clothes to her skin, revealing curves more suited to an adult woman than a child.  The combination of infantile face and whore's body was obscene; a perverse caricature of youthful innocence.
 
The girl's mouth opened, shouting words that were drowned by the rain thundering against the solar collector.  Droplets ran along the underside in a steady trickle, until gravity won out and they dripped into the gap between Tsukiko's collar and helmet.  Cold neck and hot body, steamed up under the constrictions of jumpsuit and body armour.  For the tenth time she pulled her raincoat forward to cover her nape.  Once more it slid back under the weight of the magazines and rifle grenades she had crammed into the pockets.
 
She dropped the muzzle a fraction, placing the crosshairs on the girl's chest.  The top buttons of her blouse were unbuttoned, the scarf loose, revealing the bold thrust of over-developed breasts.  Tsukiko's index finger caressed the trigger – a red dot appeared on the moist surface of the cleavage.  Ideograms scrolled down the edge of the sightscreen, listing windage, range-to-target, ambient temperature correction.  The processor adjusted the laser dot a half-click to the left.  Tsukiko shifted the rifle until the dot was once more centered within the crosshairs.  A buzz in her earpiece confirmed the target was locked.
 
Red flashing letters appeared in the corner of her sightscreen:  'NO-FIRE'.
 
"Shit..."
 
Tsukiko lifted her eye off the sight, staring at the girl across the street.  She looked tiny now, alone on the rain-slick pavement in the glaring floodlights of the armored personnel carriers, like an actress on a stage.  Tsukiko half expected her to break into a dance, take a bow.
 
"Hoshi, what's taking them so long?"
 
["The owner's getting antsy,"] said the voice in her head.  ["Talking about compensation.  He won't sign the release."]
 
["Well if he's got a problem, tell him we'll piss off back to base and let HIM deal with it,"] said Chernushevich.  She could see him as a black shadow by the crowd pusher blade of the nearest carrier, a long tube resting on his shoulder.
 
["We don't even know if that IS the rogue voomer."]  Harry's voice now, tension evident in his voice.
 
["Christ, she's out of the building isn't she?  What's she doing, putting out the garbage?"]
 
["She's not accepting the shutdown code, but the owner says this unit's always playing up."]
 
["Bullshit!"] growled Chernushevich.  ["He's not been giving his voomers the proper maintenance.  Cheaper to get them to blow the Health & Safety inspector whenever he comes round."]
 
["How about giving us one while she's at it?"]
 
The girl lifted her hands to the weeping sky, as if in supplication.  Tsukiko quickly put her eye back to the rubber sight cup, zooming in on the outstretched limbs.  They were unmarked, clean and pink.  Still, that didn't mean anything.  The skin of this voomer would be designed for easy removal of sticky body fluids like sweat, semen or blood.
 
"Override," she whispered into the rifle's microphone.
 
'LETHAL' flashed on her sightscreen.  Her finger curled on the trigger once more.
 
["Alpha One, you've overridden your safeties__"]
 
["Takemura!"]  The Captain's thundering voice cut Hoshi off.  ["If you shoot that voomer before you're authorised it's coming out of your paycheck!"]
 
"Then confirm dammit!  If she runs we could lose her in this weather!"
 
["All units, the voomer is not repeat not confirmed.  Section One, move in and immobilise her.  Section Two, cover."]
 
"Shit!" said Tsukiko, snapping the bipod up into the rifle's foregrip.  She ducked out from under the solar collector, zipping her raincoat closed as she stepped out into the downpour, running in a crouch for the edge of the roof.  In front of her the neon sea of nighttime Mega-Tokyo stretched away, distorted by the pouring rain into a murky phosphorescence.  She grabbed the nearest fire escape lever and pulled, the emergency chute exploding outwards, flapping in the air like an enormous windsock.  Without hesitation Tsukiko swung her feet inside and pushed off the edge, falling into billowing whiteness, the peristaltic tube contracting around her till she was deposited harmlessly on the ground.  Crawling out from the sodden elastifabric, she clambered to her feet and sprinted to where the others waited.
 
Section One was clustered in a tense group by the open hatch of an APC.  Red light spilling from the interior cast murky shadows on their faces.  Harry Kimiko was trying to look calm on this, his first rogue job.  Seki and Tanaka were running a last minute software check on their EMP rifles.  Chernushevich was clutching enough firepower to flatten a small tank in one hand, his eyes never leaving the spotlighted girl.
 
Tsukiko stepped under the temporary shelter of the rear hatch, shucking off her raincoat and tossing it onto the floor.  She yanked the code chip and magazine out of her rifle, the safeties activating as she handed it to the APC's armourer.  He locked the rifle inside the gun cabinet, then passed out a heavy blue cylinder, a long gun-like nozzle attached by a clip to its side.
 
Tsukiko passed the glue gun to Harry, taking for herself a FN02 grenade launcher.  It looked like a massive two handled revolver, but its lightweight plastic construction meant that it weighed less than her sniper rifle.  Tsukiko inserted her code chip.  There was a faint whirring as the stock and trigger pull adjusted to her specifications and the loading gate unlocked.  She slid in three 40mm EMP's, with two high velocity PEN-EX rounds as backup.  A turn of a key tensioned the driving spring, then she slung the weapon around her neck.  "This is Alpha One.  Radio check."
 
["Command loud and clear,"] said Hoshi.  ["We are recording, your time is 23:08:05 hrs."]
 
["Section Two, loud and clear."]
 
"Alpha Two, loud and clear."  Chernushevich planted his boot on a tire, grabbed the brace of the APC's signal laser and hauled himself up onto the roof.
 
"This is Alpha Three, you're breaking up," said Tanaka.
 
["OK, wait.  I'll reroute you through 34-0,"] said Hoshi.  ["Alpha Four, how is your signal?"]
 
["Loud and clear."]
 
Tsukiko tried dropping the visor on her helmet, but her breath fogged it up in seconds: the heater was kaputt again.  The rain was a cold shock on her face; she squinted against it, peering to where the voomer was a washed out smear against the light.
 
'Come on, let's get this fucking over with . . .'
 
Harry's boots scuffed on the tarmac.
 
["Command to Alpha Three.  Radio check."]
 
["Loud and clear."]
 
["Section One, you are cleared to go."]
 
They moved out in inverted arrow formation; Tsukiko at the apex, Seki and Kimiko to her right, Tanaka twenty metres to her left.  The voomer watched them approach - a rabbit caught in the headlights.
 
"Harry?"
 
Kimiko stopped ten metres from the voomer, aiming his gluegun below her waist.  "Ready."
 
Tanaka started waving his arms in an idiotic fashion, yelling, "Hey babe, how much for a blow job?"
 
The voomer's head turned towards him and Harry fired, a stream of grey foam exploding from the nozzle, splattering across the front of her dress in a rampant ejaculation.  Squealing in fear she jumped backwards, stumbling as the foam solidified into sticky grey clumps that pasted her thighs together.  She scrabbled with her hands across the pavement, kicking and screaming like a wounded animal.  Harry struggled to follow her with the bucking stream, the gluegun convulsing in his hands.
 
Suddenly it coughed violently and the flow dropped to a trickle.  A thick lump formed in the nozzle, drooping to the ground like an impotent penis.
 
"Shit!" cried Harry, slamming his palm against the side of the weapon.
 
There was a savage noise like tearing canvas and the voomer ripped free in a spray of body liquid.  Leaving her clothes and skin stuck to the ground, the android sprinted for the door of the brothel, thin jets of white fluid spurting from her arteries.  For a moment they had a cybersurgeon's view of artificial muscles and tiny servo-mechanisms pumping in her legs.  There was a high-pitched whine as Seki and Tanaka fired their rifles.  Holographic signs and window screens behind the voomer flickered and went dead as the electro-magnetic pulse wiped their circuitry.  A burglar alarm began its inane clangor.
 
A stubby cylinder flew over their heads and erupted with a flat crack, flinging a gossamer-thin electronet through the air.  The voomer skipped out of the way with ballerina's skill.  Turning neatly on her heel, she ran straight for Harry Kimiko.
 
"HARRY, LOOK OUT!" yelled Tsukiko.  The rookie was intent on his gluegun, struggling to clear the gunk from its nozzle.  He looked up in surprise, eyes widening as he took in the voomer bearing down on him.
 
Tsukiko didn't hesitate.  In one movement she raised and fired her grenade launcher.  A white geyser erupted between the voomer's shoulder blades.  Her entire body arched in a bow, shuddering as if caught in a massive orgasm, a high-pitched shriek erupting from her throat.  Then she collapsed, a puppet with its strings cut.
 
Placing her feet with care on the wet pavement, Tsukiko advanced towards the voomer.  Android blood was mixing with rainwater, flowing away in milky streams down the gutter.
 
"You d-d-didn't have to d-d-do that."
 
It took Tsukiko a moment to realise that the voomer was speaking.  Her lips weren't in sync with the words, like a foreign movie with bad dubbing.
 
"You d-d-didn't have to d-d-do that."
 
"PEN-EX," Tsukiko whispered into the launcher's microphone.  The cylinder clunked as it advanced two chambers.
 
"You d-d-didn't have to__"
 
Tsukiko squeezed the trigger and the voomer's head exploded.

Tsukiko really hates artificials, doesn't she? Great little snippet. I have a friend who wrote a marvelous BGC story and introduced me to the genre. Must say, your take on that universe is pretty dark.

The end of an unfinished TrielaXHilshire that I never could make work. Probably because with these two it's not meant to.

They both heard it at the same time; the movement of the lift motor.

Triela's first irrational instinct was to go for her weapon. Halfway there she stopped, spun in confusion, then raced back to her handler, helping Hilshire to button his shirt. The broken belt she dumped in the waste bin. She used her handkerchief to wipe his face; thank God she hadn't put on lipstick earlier.

'Shiesse! Of all the people it would be him!'

"Sandro, Petrushka," Hilshire greeted them. "Just getting in some shooting."

Sandro visibly catalogued their body language and rumpled clothing, the absence of cordite smell. He turned to his cyborg and rolled his eyes. Petrushka giggled. She held her Spectre M4 and a steel box of 9mm ammunition. Sandro carried paper targets and a cleaning kit. A rolled-up mattress, like one might use for prone shooting, was tucked under his arm. His smug look seemed to imply: 'See? I remembered my props. You two are amateurs at this.'
 
"Petrushka here wanted to try out her new body, after the doctors patched her up."

She walked to the bench and laid out the submachine gun and ammunition. Only a faint shading on her cheeks betrayed her excitement. Last night Petra had saved her life. Right then Triela could have cheerfully throttled her.

Sandro reached down and picked something off the floor. Triela felt herself cringe inside. It was Hilshire's belt buckle.

"You shouldn't drive her so hard, Hilshire. What was that you told me earlier, about taking advantage of a brainwashed subordinate?"

Triela took a step toward him and Petrushka snatched up her weapon and Hilshire grabbed Triela's arm and shoved her into the elevator, holding her firmly until the doors had closed behind them. In the semi-darkness Hilshire could see Triela fumbling to pull her sweater up over her head. With a resolution he could have done with a few minutes earlier, he firmly yanked her clothing back into place. "No! We're going to stop this right now! It's gone far enough."

"It hasn't gone anywhere!” There was an edge of hysteria in Triela's voice that had never been there before. "What do you want from me?!"
 
Sandro would be nuzzling his cyborg's hair, enjoying the increase in her breathing as she tried to hold her arms steady, the build-up of tension not quite released as the submachine gun hammered and bucked in her hands. After they had filled the range with scattered brass and the smell of burnt cordite, they'd make love on the floor and the benches and inside the firing bays, free of guilt and the fear of recrimination.
 
She clung to his arm all the way back to the dormitory, uncaring of the sentries with their all-seeing night scopes. That lasted until Hilshire stopped at the skip bin and insisted on rescuing Augustus and Caligula. Triela stood with her arms folded, refusing to help as he struggled with the heavy metal lid.

"Please don't banish your bears. I went to a lot of trouble to pick them."

Triela looked past him to the darkened silhouette of the Killing House, awaiting tomorrow's lessons in murder.

"I love you," said Hilshire quietly, hoping like hell that every intelligence agency in Italy had their rifle mikes switched off. "I don't have to be your lover to prove that. Fratello, like siblings, remember?"

Triela pushed at the curb with her boot. 'A hell of a place for a declaration of love, stuck between a garbage bin and a shooting range.'

"Fine," she said, not meeting his gaze. "That's all I asked for.” She shoved open the door to the Cyborg Warehouse, leaving Hilshire to free the bears on his own.
 

 
A foil blanket was wrapped around Petrushka's shoulders and bandages criss-crossed her arms, yet she was well enough to stand, shoved in between the stretcher cases. Two cyborgs were giving CPR long after the adults had given up.

"We're almost home,” she said, squeezing Triela's hand. Her friend's skin was pale and clammy, the cyborg body redirecting fluids from injured and artificial components to protect the irreplaceable brain. The clustered confusion of tubing plugged into her stomach was a petty distraction from the horror of their handler's injuries.

Triela turned her head. The familiar lights of the compound rotated outside the windows as the medivac helicopter maneuvered for landing. She could see Hilshire leaning over the shoulder of the pilot. In her drugged haze the light of the instrument panels seemed to surround his head like a halo.

"How can you stand being so intimate with your handler?" she whispered. "How can you dance in his fire and not die?"

"You've got it all wrong," Petrushka whispered back. "If I couldn't love him as I do, that would be like dying."

Triela closed her eyes. "Then leave me alone. I want to die in peace."
 

The lights were out in Triela's room, but he could see her lying on the bunk, her back to the door. Hilshire placed the stuffed toys where they could argue over who had been sitting in their chairs. He bent over and kissed her cheek before he left the room. Triela didn't respond. Her cheek was wet and salty. Hilshire was thankful he couldn't see her eyes.
 
Tomorrow they would repair the frayed bonds of their fratello, as sanity returned in the cold hours of the morning. They would agree to be more cautious in future. They would say there was no need for physical intimacy, for those whose friendship had been forged in battle. They would resolve to be lovers in their hearts. They would lie to each other, as all lovers do.