Tire Tracks and Spent Casings
A Gunslinger Girl Fanfic by MP5
Summary: Section 2 Cyborgs generally don't know how to drive, and must rely on their handlers for transportation. Not this one. This is the story of Allison, the 'Petrolhead Princess' of Section 2, and her handler Brian McDonnell. The abilities of this pair, whether behind the sights of a gun or behind the wheel of a vehicle, will make an impact on how the SWA doctrine on Fratello operations for years to come.
Disclaimer: Gunslinger Girl is the property of Yu Aida. All trademarks featured herein are copyright their respective owners. Allison, Brian, as well as other original characters herein are property of MP5 unless otherwise noted.
"So what's a pretty girl like you doing way out here?" asked Marconi D'Innocenzo. The Padanian cell leader was speaking to a ponytailed brunette who was half-sitting, half-leaning on the hood of a bright red Mazdaspeed MX-5 at a rest stop some distance from Tuscany along a beautiful stretch of winding tarmac that wove through the Italian countryside. Marconi was laying low after a spate of successful kidnappings in Rome. It did not seem like such a bad thing to enjoy himself in the meantime, and today he had decided to take his Lamborghini Gallardo Spyder for a spin in the wonderful sunny weather around Tuscany.
"Not much; I fancied a drive. I love these roads, personally." replied the brunette. "And the weather is much better here, not all dreary and rainy like it is back home."
Marconi noticed the license plate on the MX-5. He saw the EU registration plate indicated the car was registered in Great Britain. "Ah, you're English? Your Italian is impeccably good. What part of the UK are you from?" he asked, this time in a tongue foreign to him, yet one in which he was fluent.
"I'm from Wales, but I got here from London on holiday." she replied in English. "I can only take so much of dorm life before I go crazy."
"You are a college student? What are you majoring in?"
"I thought I would like to do something related to the auto industry, so I chose public relations and marketing. If it's one thing I'm good at, it's expressing how great a car is compared to other ones."
"I take it you'll work for Mazda when you get out?" asked the unassuming insurgent, indicating the brunette's car.
"If they keep making cars like this, sure. This is the Mazdaspeed MX-5. She's a real firecracker, and a blast to drive on these hills. Nice Lamborghini, by the way."
"Thanks. I worked hard to get her." replied Marconi. Certainly, those exorbitant ransom prices helped to pay for this, he added mentally.
"You sure you're not just showing off, though? I imagine a lot of people get the impression you're a rich playboy of some sort, driving around in that." said the brunette.
"If that is the impression I make, well, I see no problem with that. In fact, I am honored by such thoughts." said Marconi confidently. "And don't worry, I may not look it, but I'm a good driver."
"Would you like to prove that in a race?" challenged the brunette, a smirk on her face. Marconi smiled and shook his head.
"In that thing? Against my Gallardo? My dear, I would leave you in the dust before you could even make the first turn." the man replied.
"This is perfect territory for my MX-5. Plenty of corners, nice and exciting, just the way it should be. You might have V10 hustle, but only in the straights. You still have to slow down to take the corners, which evens the playing field rather nicely." countered the girl, glancing at him as she tilted down her sunglasses.
"You make a good point. For a young lady like you, you definitely know your stuff. Perhaps this will be a challenge after all."
"I know my cars. Care to make a wager?"
"What do you have in mind?" asked Marconi.
"There's a great restaurant several miles from here. That'll be our finish line. If I win, I would like you to buy me lunch and hand me the registration and title for your Lamborghini." offered the college student.
"That's quite a tall order." said Marconi, taken aback by her wager on his part. But at 25, he was young and stupid compared to his comrades in Padania, and so his arrogance began to take hold. "All right, I'll take you on. What do I get if I win?"
She put up her sunglasses over her eyes. "If you win, I'll give you the title and registration to my car. That, and, well... I've never been in bed with a handsome Italian man before." she proffered, stifling an internal urge to shiver.
"I like the sound of that." said Marconi, roving his eyes over the brunette's shapely figure. "You've got yourself a race then."
The two shook hands and got into their respective machines. Marconi showed off as he started his Lamborghini's engine and revved it, filling the air with the V10 exhaust note. His opponent's turbocharged 1.8L I4 didn't sound as impressive, but she gave it a few healthy revs as well. Pulling out into the intersection, they lined up at the traffic lights and waited for the green light. Both watched intensely as the light remained red. Then it changed to green, and in a chaotic spat of screeching tires and smoke, they took off on the hillside pass. Marconi leapt to the lead in his Gallardo, flexing the 513hp muscle of the midship-mounted V10 engine as they screamed down the straightaway. At the first turn, a hard left-hander, he encountered what his opponent had predicted and was forced to slow down to take the corner. What he least expected was for his opponent to come flying through the corner sideways in a opposite-lock drift. Because she kept a higher speed through the turn, she was on his tail in no time, and she even passed him at the next corner.
Is she a racing driver? wondered Marconi. What have I gotten myself into? At this rate, I'll lose my car!
As the two racers continued down the hillside pass, the brunette was speaking into a wireless earpiece connected to a personal two-way radio in her car. In her rearview mirror, she could easily see that Marconi was relying on horsepower to keep him in the race.
"Brian, he's taking the bait. Tell those guys up ahead to get ready. We're about ten seconds away from the intercept zone."
"Copy that, Allison. Don't get caught up in the trap." replied a voice on the other end.
"You know me better than that."
The brunette rounded the right-hand hairpin up ahead and then floored her gas pedal, Marconi not far behind. She saw a pair of white Ford Transit vans on either side of the road. She let up on the gas a little, allowing Marconi to breeze past her. She started braking hard to slow down her MX-5 immediately.
Checking his rearview mirror, Marconi noticed that his opponent had stopped her car entirely. As he brought his attention forward, he noticed too late that an X-Net car arrest device had been deployed right where he was about to pass over. As the tires rolled over the barbed spikes of the device, the net was wrapped around the front and rear tires of the €157,000 Euro supercar and immediately brought it to a hard emergency stop. Marconi was thrown forward, his seatbelt immediately grabbing his body but still allowing his head to smack the steering wheel. His car completely stationary, the brunette in the MX-5 quickly closed the gap between her own car and his while on the side of the road, some armed men and a 10-year-old girl with a Fabrique Nationale P90 began to advance on the car as well.
The brunette quickly got out of her MX-5 and moved in on Marconi. Realizing he was trapped, Marconi quickly extricated himself from his immobilized supercar and faced the brunette head-on armed only with a butterfly knife.
"You lying bitch! I'm gonna kill you, government whore!"
Marconi thrust his knife at the brunette, who blocked the knife by allowing it to penetrate her forearm. She immediately seized hold of his right arm and spun him around before she grabbed him by the back of his head and slammed him down hard, face-first, atop the engine bay of the Lamborghini. Using such inhuman strength, this hard and violent blow knocked Marconi unconscious and he slumped to the pavement in a heap. The threat over, the brunette looked at the Lamborghini to find that the impact of Marconi's head had left a dent on the engine bay cover of the Gallardo Spyder. Immediately, she apologetically caressed the hood, ignoring the knife still embedded in her forearm.
"I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to hurt you! We'll get that nasty ol' ouchie buffed right out!"
The 10-year-old with the P90 approached the taller brunette, bewildered at her behavior.
"Allison, are you apologizing to that car?"
"Of course, Henrietta." replied the older girl. "Cars have feelings too, and I don't think they like dents very much. Especially supercars like this Lamborghini Gallardo."
"You know, while you've been apologizing to that thing, you've completely ignored the knife that's sticking out of your arm.
Maybe you should attend to that first, Allison." said a redheaded Irishman, approaching the two girls.
"The car takes precedence, Brian." replied the girl. "But if you insist."
She grasped the knife and quickly removed it, wincing as she did so. The Irishman handed her disinfectant and gauze which she expertly used to clean and then cover up her wound. She then lifted the hood of the Lamborghini's engine bay and grasping the other side with her fingers, used her thumbs on the bulge where the dent had formed. With a firm push, she popped the dented area back into form, and save for a few new ridges, it was almost impossible to tell that a head had been in contact with the metal. The rest could be buffed out later—that is, if Brian or Section 2 would allow her to keep the beautiful machine. And so a plan came to mind.
"Can I take--"
"For the last time, Allison, you don't go on missions just to take somebody's car that you fancy as a trophy. Besides, you're already taking up two parking spaces with your other cars, not counting my own! The Social Welfare Agency is not a bloody multi-car garage!" ranted the Irish handler.
"Pleeeaaaaaaaase?" whined the brunette, giving the Irishman puppy-dog eyes. He sighed reluctantly and made his reply.
"I'll see what I can do; but don't hold your breath."
"Yaaaay!" cried the brunette, latching onto her handler with a powerful hug. He rolled his eyes and smiled. Love her or hate her, you just couldn't say no to her.
Who is this brunette? These days, everyone calls her Allison, but she held the name of 'Shelby Mercer' in a past life. Her handler is Brian McDonnell, who was once an Irishman in the British Special Air Service before a training accident almost paralyzed him and retired him from the service. Together, they form a Generation II Fratello that marks the first dedicated mobile-attack team with driving skill to match—if not surpass—even the world's best race drivers.
This is the story of their adventures. Their tale is one of horsepower and gunpowder; of engine detonation and explosive detonation; a tale of Tire Tracks and Spent Casings.
Reviews are appreciated.