Life Lessons By Google Pixie

CandaRissa this is for you as it has a Pia in it!! It is based off of the anime, Gunslinger Girl!!

We as a whole are Gunslinger Girls. We are weapons used to kill, nothing more and nothing less. However, we are still adolescent girls. Sure, we may handle guns everyday, whether it may be Sniper Rifles or Assault Rifles.

There are ten of us: Elsa, Rico, Henrietta, Triela, Claes, Angelica, Petrushka, Beatrice, Pia, and Cecile, that’s me.

Elsa is dead now, though. She murdered her handler by shooting him in the back of the head. She then shot herself in the eye. She did all that just because her handler didn’t seem to care about her.

Each cyborg is assigned a handler; together they make a fratello duo. The handlers handpick their cyborg and name them. They then train them to become assassins. We carry out the government’s dirty work through the Social Welfare Agency, also known as Section 2. It is a cyborg’s duty to protect her handler with her life. That in isn’t that hard because we can be repaired unless we are hit the eyes. Our eyes are our only weakness.

There are two prototypes of cyborgs. A stage one prototype has no memory of their previous life before. However, when she wakes up she doesn’t know where or why she is where she is. She doesn’t know her name and is unaware of the modifications to her body. Unless she remembers her life before then the only questions are where is she and why is she there. A stage two prototype already has all the answers to those questions programmed into her brain, the only catch is she has to follow out on every order she is given despite her own free will. The only cyborg that is a stage two is Petrushka, she was once known as Elizabetta Baronovskaya, a Russian-born ballerina, who attempted suicide after having her ankle amputated because of a tumor. Her handler is Alessandro.

My room overlooks the entire agency. This is how I know what is going on in the lives of the other Gunslinger Girls.

Looking out my window, I stared down at the nearly empty shooting range. There stood a young teenage girl with her brilliant blonde hair in pigtails. Her expressions held a mature and determined expression. Her shockingly bright blue eyes held an emotion that I knew all too well, loneliness. Her tan skin was dark enough so that she didn’t completely blend in with the sunlit ground around her. Her height was around the shoulder of most of the handlers, making her at least five feet tall. She was, by far, the most mature-looking girl out of all of the cyborgs. She was the eldest and played as a role model to everyone else.

She suddenly turned around and glanced up. Our gazes locked in place for a few seconds before she spun her head in the other direction causing her pigtails to spin with her and fall back into place between her waist and mid-thigh. It was then I noticed her pigtails were not held by elastic bands, but instead they were held by small pieces of white ribbon.

She walked over to a man that I couldn’t make out and handed him her SIG Saver P230 SL before walking towards the warehouse that the dorms were located in.

I turned back to my laptop and started typing. She saw me. She wasn’t supposed to see me, no one is. My thoughts raced as I typed.

Some time later, the knocking at my door startled me. I chose to ignore the sound and glanced out my window. The sun is going to set soon. My attention was pulled away from the sky when I heard the knocking on my door again. Maybe, just maybe if I ignore them, they’ll go away. To my dismay, the knocking just got louder and faster, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I got up off the window seat and set my laptop on my desks. Both hesitantly and attentively, I crept towards the door located on the other side of the room.

I slowly opened the door looked out. Standing straight, I stared at the girl standing in front of me. I immediately recognized her as the girl from before.

“I’m Triela. What’s your name?” I was surprised by the question, to say the least. During the few moments of shock, Triela walked into my room, looking around. I turned around and shut the door.

“Wow, you have a big room. You have a window, a desk, and enough room on your bookshelves for all of Claes’ books, and for both Henrietta and my collection of stuffed animals combined,” Triela said, walking around. “Why are there so many beds? There’s a normal bed to your left when you first walk in and bunk bed to your right. Then there’s a bunk bed on the right side of your de—”

“Do you want something from me?” I asked in a bored tone, tired of her describing my room to me.

Triela smirked and her personality seemed to change. “What’s your name? How old are you? When did you get here? Who’s your handler? Do you remember anything before coming here? Why haven’t I heard of you?”

I held up my hand to stop her questions. “I’ll make you a deal”—Triela raised an eyebrow as I said this—“For every day you visit, I’ll answer one question. That is, as long as you don’t tell the other girls I’m here.” Triela nodded in agreement. “Good, now, I get to choose today’s question and it is: ‘Where is your room?’ As you can see my room is here, now, goodbye.”

“Fine,” Triela walked towards the door as I opened it. “Oh yeah, before I forget, can I brush your hair next time I visit?”

Before I could answer the question, the other girls started to come up the stairs to head to their own rooms. I quickly pushed Triela out the door and shut it behind her.

I walked over to my window seat and knelt down. I opened the drawer beneath the window seat and pulled out my dark navy blue nightgown that had quarter-cut sleeves with excess fabric hanging off them. I set the folded gown on the bed.

I looked at the alarm clock to find that it was only six o’clock. It looks like I was typing for three hours. I still need to wait another five hours before I can sneak out. I sighed. I sat at my desk and started typing again. I kept glancing at my alarm clock every two minutes for the next half hour.

I looked at my clock to find it was six-thirty. I glanced back at my computer screen. On the screen was information that I knew about Triela and the other girls. I saved the updated document and closed it. I then clicked on another document and did the same. I did this with the rest of them. When I was finished, it was six-forty. I tapped my fingers against the keyboard enough to make noise, but light enough that I didn’t type anything.

I’m bored. I can’t go out at seven anymore because the lights out time being changed to eight o’clock and then there is Triela who will probably visit around ten o’clock if she comes to visit me. I debated with myself on whether or not I should get ready. Time seemed to go by quickly, since by the time I decided to get ready it was quarter past seven.

I switched my white ankle socks with my black knee-high ones. The socks reached an in inch above my knees. I then grabbed my school jacket out of the drawer underneath the window seat that I had forgotten to shut. I closed the drawer after grabbing my jet-black blazer. I didn’t need to change my skirt because it was already black. The reason I didn’t need to change my shirt wasn’t because it was black, but because my jacket would go over it.

All I have to do now is wait another three hours and forty minutes, I thought, glancing at the clock.

I went over to my laptop and shut it down; within a few moments the screen went black. The only light in the room was the moonlight coming in from the window. I shut my laptop and took out a key that was pink, my least favorite color. The key was attached to a black bracelet that I wore on my wrist while I was awake; on the other hand, when I was asleep I wore it on my ankle. I unlocked the center drawer of my desk and placed my laptop in the draw. I locked the drawer back up before sitting on my bed.

My eyes scanned the room before landing on the window. All the wood in my room was mahogany that was faded and worn. The border of the window was no exception. The window was at least two inches taller than me; it was tall in my opinion. Then again I was small for the average fourteen year old at 4’ 10".

I scanned the room once again and I realized what Triela had been talking about. Looking at my door from the opposite side of my room there was a bunk bed to left of the door. The length of the bed was against the wall with the door. The same went for the opposite side of the door except instead of a bunk bed it was a plain bed.

Getting bored, I thought back to my last day of school that I ever had. I shut my eyes and pictured the major events that happened. I remembered we had three tests the day: one in history, one in math, and one in science. I remembered walking to the dorms after class on the stonewall and doing a cartwheel as if the wall were a balance beam and then the sky and the feeling of falling. It had felt as if I fell for hours before almost nothing. I remembered seeing my feet come in front of my face before an impact between my upper back, neck, hands, and what must have been the ground. I probably knew in the back of my mind that I had broken my neck. That would be the only explanation for the loud crack during the impact. Less than a minute after hitting the ground everything went black. When I had awakened I was in the hospital across from the dorms. I was told that the person who had chosen to ‘rescue’ me was killed. They changed my name from Cecilia Ann Louis to Cecile. When they gave me back my school uniform they said I wouldn’t be going back to school. Ever since then I was isolated from the other girls.

My eyes shot opened and I took a deep breath. I hated that memory and I wasn’t even supposed to have it. Besides, that was two years ago and this was now. I stood up and fixed my traditional school uniform skirt. It was shorter than fingertip length now and barely reached an inch above my wrist. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t be wearing it but since I was isolated it didn’t matter. I fixed my white shirt and brushed my long black hair out of my face. My hair went down to the back of my knees but I didn’t care about that, mainly because it went past the bottom of my skirt. I turned to the alarm clock to find it was only nine o’clock.

I bent down and reached underneath my desk to grab my boots. The boots were the same color as my hair and school uniform and made me one inch taller. I slipped them on and stood up straight. The tops of them were an inch above my socks. I checked the clock as I put my school jacket on to find it was ten past nine. I buttoned the jacket before fixing my hair. I reached over my desk and grabbed my black headband. I put it around my neck before putting it in place on top of my head. I opened the top draw on the left side of the desk and grabbed my watch checking to make sure the alarm was on and set.

My room was directly underneath the stairs leading to the roof and the water tower. I walked over to my bookcase that was closest to the bunk bed next to my desk. I searched the bookshelf until I found the book I was looking for, Les Adventures de Tom Sawyer. I pulled the book off the shelf and took my key out. I unlocked the lock located on the back of the bookcase. I swung the bookcase open as if it was a door.

When I entered the doorway it was a quarter past nine. I didn’t realize that I had forgotten to lock my bedroom door and shut the bookshelf when I walked towards the window a few meters to my right.

I unlatched the window and pushed on it causing it to open. I stepped out onto the ledge and looked up searching for the keyhole. Two minutes later I found it and unlocked it. I turned around to come face to face with Triela.

“Planning on jumping?” she asked.

“No,” I said, jumping inside and shutting the window. I locked the window back up and faced her. I opened my mouth to say something when I noticed that the bookcase was blocking the doorway again. I sighed and shook my head. When I stopped, I stared at her rolling my eyes.

“What, did I do something wrong?”

“Obviously. Did you at least lock my bedroom door when you entered the room?” I asked her with little hope of the answer being yes.

“No, I didn’t. I would just love being caught entering or in a passageway in someone else’s room that wasn’t there before,” Triela said sarcastically.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I walked down the hall past the covered doorway. Triela walked over to where the doorway once was and attempted to open it. “You won’t be able to open it. You must have accidentally hit the safety lock,” I said.

“What on earth do you mean by a safety lock?”

“The safety lock prevents the door from opening for five hours. Since it’s about nine-twenty-five the door won’t open until two-twenty-five.”

Triela gave up and sighed. “Sorry about that.” She must have turned to look at me because she asked, “Where did she go?”

I jumped down from the metal ladder on the passage directly from the passage from the fourth floor. “Are you coming or not?” I called up from where I stood. Within a few seconds she was looking down at me through the hole that was in the floor. “Well?”

“Well what?” she asked.

“I don’t know about you but the last thing I was to do is spend five hours in any one of these passage ways.”

Triela stood up and climbed down the ladder as well. When her neck was level with the floor she jumped down next to me. “Now what?”

“Now, we go down.” I walked over to the window and unlocked it. I opened the window and stepped out. I looked up and immediately found the keyhole.

I unlocked it before going back inside and locking the window. I walked back over to Triela and allowed her to go first.

"Why do you keep doing that?

“Doing what?”

“Opening the windows and stepping out.”

“Oh, that. Well, I’m unlocking the passage openings on the last two floors. Keep climbing down.” I told her as I passed the second floor.

At the first floor Triela jumped down and asked me, “What do you mean by last two passages?”

I kept climbing until my feet were on the step above the floor. “I mean this,” I said before jumping down making sure my arms didn’t hit the floor as I went through the hole. I landed on my feet with the ceiling about eight feet above my head. I moved out of the way as Triela landed beside me.

“Where are we?” Triela asked looking around.

“We are in the underground tunnels under the Agency.” I walked down the tunnel taking several turns and looking up time to time. After five minutes I stopped and Triela bumped into me.

“Why do you look up so much?” she asked.

“Let me get this straight, you go on missions and when you look around you don’t look up. For some reason it is in human nature not to look up.”

I prepared to run forward and perform a round-off back handspring tuck so I could grab the ladder when Triela stopped me. She took out her gun and shot the bottom of the ladder causing the other half to slide down and stop a foot above the ground. “For someone who looks up a lot, your not that bright. Why didn’t you just shoot it?”

“I don’t have a gun at the agency.” I walked over to the ladder and started climbing. “I’ll answer some of the questions you asked earlier.”

“What is your name and how old are you?”

“My name at the agency is Cecile and I am fourteen years old. Next question.”

“Who is your handler and why haven’t I heard of you?”

I pushed the passage door up and over. When I finished opening it I climbed out and answered her question. “You haven’t heard of me because I was told to isolate myself from the other girls and not to interact with them, when I arrived at the agency a year and a half ago.” I jumped over the six-foot wall and landed on the other side. When Triela landed beside me I finished my statement. “I don’t have a handler because mine was killed before I woke up.”

With that I took off running dodging any traps that I might set off. Triela understood because she followed my movements exactly. When I got to the street, three minutes later, I stopped and looked both ways before crossing. I took off running through the woods until I reached a park. I looked at my watch as I walked over to the park bench and sat down.

When Triela sat down next to me she asked, “What time is it?”

“It is nine-forty-five. Do you have any more questions? Do you always carry a brush around?” I asked.

“No. I like brushing long hair and you have long hair. I had it with me when I went to visit you. May I brush yours?”

I sighed before nodding and turning so she could brush it. “Did you know that I know all the pasts, the weapons, the names, the original names, the handler names, ages, heights, order of arrival, when they arrived, prototype stage, and the description of each cyborg?”

“If that’s the case you know about everybody,” Triela stated as she parted my hair and started French braiding one side.

“The order of arrival is Angelina Bird, Rachel Ratiel, Fleda Claes Johansson, Cecilia Ann Louis, Elza de Sica, Brenda Beryl, Enrico Jones, Holly Etta, Stella Cadente, and Elizabetta Baronovskaya. In order of cyborg names it goes Angelica, Triela, Claes, Cecile, Elsa, Beatrice, Rico, Henrietta, Pia, and Petrushka.”

Part 2 of Life Lessons

“Why are you a cyborg?”

I explained what happened on my last day of school.

When I finished she randomly stated, “I like your hair, its black, black as midnight.” She then started French braiding the other side of my hair. “I’m going to quiz you on the other girls. Name the handlers in order of their cyborgs. Then tell me when they arrived. You can skip yourself.”

“Marco, Hillshire, Raballo, Lauro, Bernardo, Jean, Jose, Arnester, and Alessandro. Angelica arrived three and a half years ago when her father hit her with his car to collect her life insurance in order to stop his factory from declaring bankruptcy, you arrived two months later after being found in Amsterdam and were a mafia child, Claes arrived two months after you after a hit and run, I arrived two months after that, Elsa arrived three months after me after being in a car accident, and Beatrice arrived a month later after being injured in a school shooting. Rico arrived a year and a half ago after her parents signed her over because of severe birth defects, Henrietta arrived half a month later after all six of her family members were killed, four and a half months later Pia arrived after being caught in a house fire, and finally ten months ago Petrushka arrived after attempting suicide because her ankle was amputated.”

“What happened?”

“Petrushka was a Russian-born ballerina and her ankle was amputated because of a tumor.”

Triela nodded as she put an elastic band on the side of my hair that she had been braiding. Somebody walked into the park area causing us to turn our heads. “Hello, Pietro,” Triela said.

“Both of you come with me,” he said turning around.

We both got up and followed him. He led us to his car and said, “The Social Welfare Agency isn’t happy that, as far as I was told, one of their cyborgs are missing. Hillshire didn’t seem too happy about that either.”

When we got in nobody said anything. Pietro started the car and drove back to the agency. The ride was silent and nobody said anything until Pietro said, “I’m Pietro Fermi, I’m a new employee at Section 2. I know Triela, but I don’t know who you are.”

“My name is Cecile and no, I don’t have a handler, if that is what you are wondering.” I said as we pulled into the agency.

When we arrived at Lorenzo’s office, the three of us entered and sat down.

“Cecile, you escaped as well. Why are you with…” Lorenzo asked.

Little did I know he knew her name, he wanted to see if I knew it. “Her name is Triela,” I said.

“Why are you with Triela and why are you interacting with the other cyborgs? As chief of this agency I can’t allow that.”

“I don’t have an answer.” Triela looked at me shocked.

“Well, then in that case I’ll have to use the ‘medication’ to erase Triela’s memory of you. It’s too bad it can’t affect your memory.”

Triela was confused and asked, “What is going on?”

“Why?” Pietro asked just as confused.

"Nobody is willing to be Cecile’s handler because the ‘medication’ only can be used to repair her and it can’t affect her memory. Which means that she can’t have any ‘conditioning’ to rewrite her programming and her personality will stay the same no matter what. Unless you are willing to be her handler Triela’s memory will be erased.

Pietro thought for several minutes before he replied, “Fine, in that case, I’ll be her handler.”

“Why?” I asked confused.

“I’ll be your handler because you seem to have made friends with Triela and I wouldn’t want to make you hate me.”

I thought for a moment and realized I had made friends with Triela. It was then I remembered what my mom had told me before she had died. ‘In the end you learn a lesson before you play the game again. You only have one life to live and one shot to live that life to its fullest before it’s gone. Remember that in the end there really is no end only new beginnings.’ I guess I was wrong before, we are not a whole as individuals, but rather we are individuals as a whole. We as individuals are a Gunslinger Girl.

I love this anime!!