Chapter 4: 

It was sunny in Marseilles, though the warm temperature was not unpleasant for someone who grew up in Pennsylvania and spent his adult life in the dreariness that is Eastern Europe. Sonya, on the other hand, seemed to be baking slowly in her suit. Far from the cold climate of St. Petersburg and her original home even further east, the warm sun was getting to her a bit, much to Michael’s amusement.
“I told you to go with the skirt.”
“Shut up.”
Michael smiled as he sipped his iced coffee at the bistro table, casually glancing around at the scenery. Sonya slipped off her suit jacket, sighing as the breeze hit the skin exposed by her sleeveless blouse. 
“That’s much better.” She smiled at him and winked. “Is good to be hot woman so long as in bedroom... Dat was joke, no?”
Her poor grammar and thick Russian accent reminded him of the Boris and Natasha of his youth, pulling a smile from his lips.
“That was joke no.”
“Shit!” She stubbed out a cigarette before going back to her notes on their plans. “We’ve covered half of the places you wanted to already. Were you able to get anything out of the girl’s former neighbors?”
“Nothing useful. She was there, found out what happened, and then disappeared from their home in the middle of the night. That was two weeks ago. She could be anywhere by now.”
“You think she’s in trouble.” His return glance made it clear that he was expecting it. Experience told him to look at the worst possible outcome and plan for it, though she could not anticipate what he might think it was this time.
“I think we need to find her sooner than later.”
“Don’t you-“ She cut herself off and shook her head, telling herself not to ask that question. Michael was not the type to give up easily, however, and his expectant look made it clear that he would pursue the comment until it was discussed in full. 
“Don’t you think you’re worrying too much? I know what happened to Jamie was traumatic to deal with, but I think you are expecting this girl to end up the same and I’m not sure that is fair to her. She’s young, sure, but she had some strength in her, and that can go a long way towards helping someone survive.”
Michael usually tried to be honest with his self, it was one of his assets, and a fast reflection on his actions did indeed seem as if he was being possessive of the girl. That wasn’t it, however. It wasn’t just pride or the call of action... 
Whatever it was inside himself that sought to protect Jamie and now Alexandria came from deeper within. He could not ignore it any more than he could ignore the instinctive screams in his mind when he knew he was being lied to or when his life was in danger.
“I don’t know. All I know is that I need to find out what happened to her, and to make sure she’s all right. Right now, even vengeance takes a back seat to that.”
“I see...” 
Sonya lit another cigarette and dug in her suit pocket for her notebook, flipping to the appropriate pages.
“Michael Christiansen... Age: thirty-four.” She erased the previous notation of thirty-two and corrected it. “Brown hair, brown eyes, six foot tall, and average build. Language skills: English, German (fluent), passable Russian, Dutch, French, and I know I’ve heard some casual Spanish in there at times. Specializes in infiltration and counter-intelligence, with strong marks in weapons, average in hand-to-hand. Planning and team coordination skills are considerable. Incredible instincts, unbelievable luck, and perfect timing... Behavior is best described as unpredictable but focused, calm with possibility for deadly intensity, honorable and consistently warm until provoked or forced to react to danger.”
He could tell that she was not just making it up. It was actually written down in her book.
“Here’s the important part... ‘Weaknesses: Physically vulnerable in right ribs and both shoulders. Personality: Soft spot for innocents, clergy, puppies, and women in distress. Displays strong paternal instincts’. Does that about cover it?”
“Fuck.” He bowed his head in shame. “I can’t believe you keep a file on me.”
Sonya smiled and put the notebook away. “Your file in Russian intelligence was not nearly as complete or as gracious. ‘Mostly Harmless’ was the wording used, I believe. Obviously I know better than that. The part about the puppies is probably the most damning bit, but what are you going to do?” 
“I should crawl into a hole and die. I didn’t think anyone knew I liked puppies.”
She smiled evilly. “Never underestimate my intelligence skills. In any case, my point was to show that it is in your nature to worry about a woman you know. You should not let that rule your emotions to the point that your actions are based on the worst-case scenario. It’s difficult with your history, I know, but... Well, there it is.” 
“You’re saying I shouldn’t worry?”
“I’m saying that we’ve been going about this as if something happened to her. We should probably be looking for places she would end up if she was trying to make her way in life.”
Michael thought about that and shrugged. He had to admit that he had been blindly working from his fears rather than objectively.
“Okay... Lets split up and check the obvious places first. You try transportation and I’ll try the employment and educational outlets. 
“We’ll meet up at the hotel tonight unless we get a hit on something.”
Michael stood and paid the bill. “Alright. Lets hope this works out better.”
“I’m sure it will, Michael.”

His feet were tired by the time evening started settling into the sky. His journeys to the education and employment offices had only netted him the information that he could already have guessed. Alexandria Gravois had gone on vacation with her parents and then never returned to school, even after she had started living with her neighbors. She had also not applied for work in the local temp agencies or employment centers. She had become just another non-entity in a country and world full of them. The anonymity was something Michael had taken on to facilitate his occupation, but it was not something he would otherwise hold to. An identity was important to maintaining one’s sanity.
A pause to rest in the local park led to his mind wandering back to the early days at the CIA, and how he had carefully crafted his outward persona to be unremarkable and impossible to remember. Every action considered beforehand for its impact on others, every word spoken in such a way that it seemed natural without being memorable. The whole of his being was put towards being just another face in a sea of them. His invisibility led to his being able to tail and approach people who had important things to hide, people who stuck out because of their efforts to not stick out amid the crowds.
Now he had to admit that it was tough to find someone who was insignificant. How do you find someone who has simply vanished? Looking at it now, the lack of information could be read as there being no crime committed, no real problem to look into. If that were the case, did he really have the right to intrude on Alexandria’s life in order to sooth his conscience?
It came down to his instincts and personality, as Sonya had said. He had to know she was okay, even if he had to apologize for his curiosity.
His phone started buzzing away and the display showed it to be from Sonya. Maybe she was giving up for the night and wanted an earlier dinner than planned.
“Yeah.”
“Hi. Grab our bags and meet me at the train station by ten. I got a hit off of a ticket agent who said the girl was here last week and took a train to Paris. I’ve got us booked on the ten-thirty train going north.”
“Is this confirmed?” Michael stood and started walking towards the park entrance.
“The agent said that the girl was a few euros short on the fare, but he could tell it was important and spotted her the difference. He was able to describe her pretty well even before I showed him the photo.”
“Hmm.”
“That and she used her name on the ticket.”
“Ah. Okay. I’ll be there at ten.”
“I’m going to get a bit of shopping done for some more suitable clothes. See you then.”
Sometimes the right answer is the most obvious and easiest to try.

Alexandria Gravois gently kicked open the back door and lugged the heavy trash bags out to the dumpster behind the restaurant. It had been almost a three weeks since she had left the home of the neighbors she had known all her life and set out on her journey to make it on her own. Marseilles was a boring place, though she certainly could have found a job there. 
The memories of her family did not help matters any, especially having lost her older brother seven years before in what would be the first knife in her parents’ hearts. Her own disappearance was the second, and both had ended their lives in despair, unable to cope with the silence of the home they had lovingly raised two children in.
Her brother had been almost eighteen when he was killed in an ordinary traffic accident. He had watched over her since she was born and was the closest friend she could ever hope for. She had not understood, really, what the effect on her parents had been. She remembered their crying, almost every night for a long time after, and the silent dinners at a table that was so empty on one side. 
It had taken a long time, she now reflected, to get over that pain enough to move on. The second time was impossible to move past. The worst part about it was the blame she had to attribute to her own actions. Her parents were dead because of her carelessness and the vile actions of another. There was no way to sugarcoat it, it was simply a fact. 
The trash bag left both hands and crashed into the dumpster, freeing up a hand to wipe a tear from her eye. It had taken her a couple of weeks of stunned solitude in the care of her neighbors to break free of the blackness that had engulfed her mind. In that time she had carefully considered suicide as an answer to her plight. The feeling of being alone in the world was overwhelming but the faintest trickle of light was still in her heart, and that was what pushed those thoughts out of her mind. 
That bit of light, something she seemed to see every time she closed her eyes, had a cause and she could not let go of life until she figured out what it was. She had always been curious of how things worked and why, but nothing had ever made her feel like that tiny point of light had. It was there before her in the blackness, but always just out of reach, not so much taunting or avoiding her as it was simply unintelligible. She had to understand what it was or she could not surrender her life.
She leaned against the wall of the alley, pulled out a cigarette she had bummed off of a coworker, and lit it with a cheap lighter she had found on a table, left behind by it’s owner. The acrid smoke filled her lungs and she coughed violently, her head reeling from the still-new experience. She had to look like an adult at times now and smoking seemed like a good cover, but she could not get the hang of it, giving up again after only a few choked puffs and stubbing the cigarette out. 
“How can anyone stand those?”
The sounds of the street filtered into the alley, the darkness in it both comforting and frightening at the same time. It was this darkness and solitude that took up her few breaks at work, and the long walk to the horrid place she now called home. Just thinking about it made her want to cry, but that was something she could not afford to do. She had to remain strong and resolute, surviving wherever and however she could, even if those places were terrible and the nights difficult. 
The restaurant closed just after eleven, and by midnight Alexandria was walking down a main street, anonymous in the light crowd that was enjoying the nightlife and feeling a twinge of paranoia with her hard-earned money in her pockets. Her first night in the city had resulted in her being mugged for the pittance of change she had to her name and every shadow was now filled with someone who would take her means of living away from her. She had been practicing though, and while she lacked the muscle mass to rain down a beating on someone attacking her, she could certainly claw their skin and gouge their eyes. She would not go down without a fight.
The alley she called home was tucked off of a minor street, the traffic light and the other homeless less pronounced. Alexandria only had one real neighbor, an old man and his mangy cat, both residing further down the alley in an unused storage shed. She had laid claim to a smaller utility shed, barely a phone booth in size and less when you avoided the wiring and piping, but it was dry and somewhat secure, having a lock on the inside and out. Some careless worker had left the key in it, and that was now her property. There was even a dusty light inside, and after locking the door she changed into her casual clothes, hanging her work/presentable clothes on a bent hanger. Life was tough right now, she knew, but she had plenty of strength and determination to make things better for herself, and that was what mattered. 
As she nibbled on a sandwich she had bought on the way home, her only meal of the day, she counted her money and quickly factored her budget, setting aside the appropriate amount for food and the cost of the nearby hostel’s bath, she figured her savings was adding up quickly. She would soon have enough to start renting a bed at the hostel on a consistent basis, something her back and health would greatly appreciate.
Her last act after turning off the light was to say a short prayer for protection. She would do the hardest part of the work, and count on God to provide some shelter from misfortune. 
God was the only one left to count on.

“Hello, Pierre.” 
An aging cafe owner turned to face the voice, focusing to remember it even as the smile broke out on his face at the sight of the speaker. 
“Michael!” 
The man stepped around the counter and hugged Michael, something Michael was prepared for by kissing his former boss and benefactor on both cheeks in the French way, an act that thrilled the man greatly since he had spent so much time trying to teach Michael to loosen up and accept the European ways.
“You’ve been taking my lessons to heart, eh? Where I come from, it is four.”
Michael’s hand stopped the man as he attempted to plant a couple of more. “Where I come from, a man would get shot doing that.”
“You’ve always been the shy type.” Pierre’s eyes fell on Sonya and her slim frame and warm aura. “And who is this? A lady friend of my friend Michael, no?” He took her offered hand and kissed it gently.
“Sof’ya Sergeyevna Grishenko.” The old man’s smile was warming and she decided to give it a bit more smile about, playing the flirt. “Just a friend.”
“It is a shame. Michael is such a fine young man, but I cannot help him with matters of the heart when my own is pounding so strongly for a woman such as yourself.”
“ Hmm? Well, experience has its own benefits, you know.”
They shared a laugh at the banter as Michael pulled them all some coffee, tossing a few bills in the till as he passed on his way to the table the other two had occupied.
“Thank you, Michael.” Pierre sipped and smiled, telling Michael in a glance that he had not lost the skills he had acquired. “Mmm. Just like I remember. I miss that strong flavor you were so prone to making. Some of my regulars missed it as well.”
“I’m sorry for the sudden departure. Things became complicated after I last spoke to you.”
Pierre eyed Michael curiously at the comment. He knew a little of what Michael had done before he had begged him for a job. The details were always missing but it did not take a genius to know that his friend was a product of government training. They had last spoken when Michael called to say why he would not be in to work, the same day he had found Jamie in the warehouse.
“I see. And the girl... She is well?”
“I wish that she were, Pierre. She lived well for another year or so, but she died fighting the men who had hurt her so badly. She got her revenge. That’s about all I can say about that.”
Pierre nodded and sipped his coffee, closing his eyes in a short, silent prayer. “Knowing a person such as that, Michael, is having your own soul opened for you to see. You learn much about yourself and become stronger for it.”
“I know. She was...” How to describe Jamie... “She was the most beautiful and inspirational young woman I have ever seen, and I loved her.” 
“That is good.”
Silence enveloped the table as the noise and bustle of Paris danced around them in its whimsical way. Sonya felt almost as if she were in the way in this meeting of friends, but Michael had made it clear that he needed her close to keep him on track.
“Perhaps we should ask him about the girl.”
Michael snapped from his thoughts about Jamie and blinked, refocusing his mind on his current task. “Yes, Pierre. Right now I’m looking for someone, and given your prime location and flawless memory for faces, I thought you might be able to help.”
“Of course, my friend.”
Michael pulled out a picture of Alexandria and slid it in front of his friend.
“Her name is Alexandria Gravois, of Marseilles. Sixteen, brown hair and blue eyes, about a hundred and sixty-seven centimeters, around fifty kilos, sharp chin, average eye spacing.”
“Hmm.” Pierre gazed hard at the photo, trying to recall the face from his memory. “I may have seen her before, but I cannot be sure. All the young women look the same to an old man like myself.”
“Anything at all that you can tell me?”
His friend looked up at him, his eyes showing the doubt in his face. “I can’t remember. It wasn’t here, I’m sure. I’ll have to think about it a bit. Is there some place I can reach you if I remember it?”
“Here...” Michael wrote down his phone number and the hotel and room they were staying in on a paper napkin. “I just need to find her to be sure she’s well. Give me a call if you remember anything.”
“I will, Michael. You’re leaving already?”
Michael had stood to leave, downing the rest of his coffee in a single toss. Sonya followed his lead and stepped towards the street a bit.
“We have to check a bunch of other places still. I’ll probably be back in the hotel by nine but there’s a lot of ground to cover until then.”
“Very well, my friend. I wish you the best of luck. Please let me know if you find this girl.”
“I will, Pierre.”

The fruitless day came to a close with the rain pouring down on the City of Lights, soaking everyone and everything too foolish to stay inside or carry an umbrella. By the time Michael and Sonya made it to the hotel, both were drenched, their clothes sticking to their clothes and her hair dripping, flat, and uninspiring, something she simply could not stand for any length of time.
Michael retreated to the solitude of the shower and let the hot spray warm his chilled body. His eyes closed and he let his mind wander to whatever it wanted to, feeling perhaps a bit disturbed by the fact that it stopped on the image of the man he had given the Columbian Necktie to.  It was a grotesque sight, even in his mind. At the time it had been so natural, just as executing the others had been, but now he was feeling the remorse that he really should not have to feel. Perhaps it was the fact that his current mission was to see to the well being of the last victim of those thugs, his soul desperately needing a complete closure to the action to justify the huge loss he had paid for.
A pair of delicate hands startled him from his reflection and made him jolt upright, their every touch electric on his back.
“Are you okay?”
Sonya wrapped her arms around him and gave a friendly hug for support, but her actions weren’t natural enough for either of them to feel at ease.
“Yeah. I was just thinking to myself.” He turned to face her and took in a quick glance at her body, unsure of how to proceed in the face of her lithe, feminine, and decidedly attractive form.
“I could tell.” Sonya stepped into the spray from the shower and let it cascade across her skin, feeling the warmth seep into her chilled body. “You seem disturbed, Michael. Want to talk about it?”
“Are you sure it’s not simply the fact that you and I, regardless of our flirting, have never been this intimate before?”
He caught her soft smile, one that said she was not there with any specific goals.
“I grew up in a large family, in a small space, and I had to share my bath with my sisters and brothers at times. To this day, I don’t like to bathe alone. I’m not sure why. I just felt compelled to come in here and bathe with you.”
“I see.”
Michael continued washing, ever conscious of the woman beside him but too manly to show embarrassment in the face of a woman who obviously felt none. He had to remind himself that she was his equal in skill and intelligence, and more importantly in thought. He had seen her kill for contract once. Just that one time he had glimpsed into a face that reflected his own and felt fear. Coming face to face with your doppelganger made for an interesting experience. 
Of course that was all after they had originally met. She hid her ability just as much as he did and the attraction he had initially held for her ceased to exist after that moment. They were friends now, a mutually protective agreement put in place because it was easier to sleep at night being friends than enemies.
Her hands touched him again, this time in a more direct way that drew his mind back to the woman she most certainly was.
“Hmm. No reaction at all.” There was disappointment mixed with the curiosity in her eyes as she looked up at him.
“I’ve been like this since the raid in Kiev and I’m not sure why. Emmy thought maybe I’m just tired.”
“Kiev was tough, Michael. There’s no shame in feeling bad about what happened to those kids. We can’t win them all.” 
She stood and continued bathing, turning the water up and letting the steam fill the room. Michael’s hands touched her back, softer than she imagined he was capable of, and she closed her eyes and sighed as she felt his lips brush against her right ear.
“Please, Sonya... Never touch me like that again.”
The whispered words were filled with the pain of his heart. Whatever he was carrying around with him was locked away tight, but he felt it necessary to show it to her now, if only to make it clear that she should do nothing to unlock it, even unintentionally.
“I understand, Michael. It won’t happen again.”
Michael stepped from the shower and toweled off, wrapping himself in a robe before leaving the room. Sonya sighed again, her expectant mind and body frustrated in spite of her attempts to quell them with reason.
He was watching television when she stepped from the bathroom, staring intently at a cable news broadcast from the United States as a ticker of unimportant stuff scrolled across the screen.
“ What’s going on?”
“Something I’m not entirely sure of yet.” The image changed before she could get a good look and he leaned back immediately after, his face passive and eyes closed as his mind churned things inside. “I’m getting bits and pieces of things I think might be related to Italian intelligence, but it’s very vague. The round-about methods of both Langley and Rome are covering the trail with a lot of useless information.”
She sat down next to him, still clad only in a bath towel. “You think they’re at odds?”
“I see that more than I see them working together. Lorenzo is up to something and Langley is trying to figure out what it is.”
“How do you know this?”
Michael’s eyes seemed so far away as he looked at her. It was as if his mind weren’t in the same room but watching something happen elsewhere.
“Because Lorenzo got me involved. I’m one of two links he has had to the CIA. The other one I know about has been dead for two years. I’d imagine he has someone else now, but Langley would be on their guard. They’d toss Lorenzo a plant if they could, and he knows this. He can’t trust any of the information he’s getting from his sources so he’s using me.”
Sonya thought about that. “He can trust your actions because he’s your enemy.”
“That’s right. The only thing I have to really worry about with him is how long I am useful. Once I outlive that, he’ll send three or four teams after me, and I won’t survive that. Which is why I have to get to him first.”
“But you’re not even connected to Langley anymore. Why would you be of interest?”
“Because Langley will need me at some point. They need information on Lorenzo, stuff that their plant isn’t being fed. They can trust my actions for the same reason as Lorenzo.”
She stood and stepped to the bed, shrugging off the towel and slipping into her nightclothes. “I think you’re over-estimating your importance. Have you considered that Lorenzo might have simply wanted to tie up a loose end?”
“Yes.” He turned off the television and climbed into the bed, feeling somewhat out of sorts in sharing it with her. “That cyborg tried to kill me, I have no doubt. But there was absolutely no follow-up, even though he had a chance at me. No, Lorenzo plans to use me for something. I’m just not sure what.”
Sonya climbed into the sheets and curled up with a pillow, flipping off the lamp.
“Tomorrow is a new day, Michael Christiansen. We never know what will happen. Who knows, you might even meet up with some of your old friends.”
Michael tried to ignore that idea, as well as the warmth of the body beside his, closing his eyes and letting sleep rescue him from his life.

The days had become something of a blur for Aya Gallo. 
Freed from the medical and training restrictions, she had immersed herself in finding out everything she could about Michael Christiansen. What she had been told about him before was the smallest sliver of the truth, and now that she had his CIA and SWA files spread out across her desk she could easily see why she had lost to him. “Deadly Focus under fire” was a particularly helpful phrase that the CIA had honored him with. Chief Lorenzo’s own remarks coupled with the operational report of the Venice action from Ferro painted a picture of a serious and determined individual... one who could not be brought down by anything other than an extreme amount of force being directed at him all at once. 
Still... there were indications that he thought more cautiously than others thought. Ricardo had taught her to evaluate actions and work around them, the very thing Christiansen did as naturally as breathing. Replaying their encounter in her mind, she could read his largest weakness; that which had let her get so close... his compassion for women. 
Michael Christiansen was not a womanizer, at least not in the way that so many men were. He allowed his heart a voting choice in his evaluation of people, and with women he naturally assumed the best rather than the worst. Those few moments in the alley had been an extended vacation from his alertness and she had failed to take proper advantage of it. Her only action at that moment should have been to put a pair of shots or blade through his skull.
Instead she had given him warning. It was a careless and self-gratifying act on her part, and one that would never be repeated again. In warning him as she had, she gave him enough time to evaluate her true nature and prepare for it. He figured out that she was a Type Three Cyborg. He knew that her eyes were probably still a weakness; although his last words to her were a sign that he also knew she would survive. What else did that man know?
Aya paused from her reading and leaned back in her chair, stretching the stiffness out of her shoulders. She closed her eyes and focused on her target a bit closer in her mind. Watching him walk down the street in Amsterdam, his eyes always checking for something that was a threat to him, but it was second nature to him. His mind was not on it enough to catch her cold while tailing him. He trusted his instincts and senses to warn him of danger rather than seeking it out. 
His mind was also partly focused on something else, something that gave his face a saddened look. 
She opened her eyes and flipped though the folders, coming across the one she had not opened yet- that of Michael’s cyborg, Jamie. The medical data was incomplete and what little was the there seemed pieced together as if from memory. A small note in a corner mentioned that he had stolen all of her data from the computer and it’s back-up. That explained it.
Not only was the man gifted instinctually and in fortune, he was technically competent and always planned a contingency operation. He had made his escape from the medical wing with the help of Emily Lanstrom, a graduate of the CIA’s Technical branch. She had the skills to pull it all off, and if she were like Michael in any way, she was an effective operative as well. 
Jamie Christiansen had been a technical nightmare from the medical standpoint. She functioned almost perfectly, but her mind was at the heart of all of her problems, though a few brushes with death were certainly not her fault. In the end she had lost all loyalty to the agency, instead going on a violent quest to save Michael and avenge her friends from her old life.
That made Aya stop and carefully consider her own memory. As far as she knew, she had grown up inside the agency walls. Her memory was of a childhood spent suffering from physical disability, a long, arduous time learning even a basic education, and then....
She didn’t know. Somehow she had been gifted her cyborg body but the when and why was simply not inside her head to be found. She remembered waking up almost two years ago and being taught to shoot and function as a soldier, to think like a spy, and to live as her handler’s pet. 
The latter was something that filled Aya with a deep longing and her body reacted as such, anxiously awaiting Ricardo’s touch as he had done on so many nights. His punishments were cruel, at least in the opinions of some of the other handlers... They made no efforts to hide their opinions from her or Ricardo. The short-lived bruises and welts were only a physical nuisance, but the searing pain from them had become her drug, all too quickly replaced by the numbing of her body and mind’s physical countermeasures. Petrushka had called her something one night in the heat of an argument. What was it?
The words spoken in English came back to her. She had to look it up, having never heard the collective term in her learning of the language. The synonyms were easier to grasp with their more eloquent and scientific etymology: Masochist.
But the term was more vulgar than that and the undertones of Petra’s flurry of disgust spoke of something more. She had called Aya a ‘Pain-Slut’. The definition that she had put together so many hours later had infuriated her and made her wish the conditioning allowed her to strike out against another cyborg. The fact that she did in fact derive sexual pleasure from the pain inflicted upon her body was not the issue. Petra had insinuated that Aya was a woman of lowered standards and whimsical moral structure, a judgment Aya found almost laughable given the young woman’s skills, methods, and preferences.
For whatever reason, the agency allowed Ricardo to do as he pleased with his toy, the first of the Third-generation design. For all outward appearances Aya was a woman in her mid to late twenties, though she knew herself to be only twenty-two. Ricardo had treated her as such and she followed his every order, command, and comment in everything, including his sexual needs. 
She had to fight off the burning heat in her body at the memories that flooded back, standing on her weakened legs and pacing around her room a bit to calm down. Ricardo was gone now and Michael Christiansen was to blame, if only because it was his actions that forced their team to have to strike at his friends. Because of his foolish claim to his cyborg’s memory, her handler, the man she loved, had to die. 
Michael Christiansen...A man with a weakness for women and sentiment. 
Aya smiled with the next idea that popped into her head.

Her morning run was complete and the schedule had been cleared for some range time, something she had been having trouble focusing on with the turmoil in her head. Her skills had been passable at her evaluation, but she had always been better than that. This day, however, she was focused entirely on learning something new to her.
The armorer was puzzled for a moment at her request but then shuffled back into the storage room and returned five minutes later with a battered and dented rifle case. She watched his hands yank a tuft of grass from a crack in one corner before he flipped the case around to face Aya.
“Here it is. I never bothered to cut the lock off of it so I’m not sure what kind of condition it is in. It’s one of those cases where something happens to the owner and everything just ceases to be important.” He dug under the counter, reaching far into the dark depths of the drawer, and pulled out a large ammunition box. “Here’s the shells for it we salvaged from the Jaguar. There’s a hundred or so there so that should keep you shooting for a while.” 
“Thank you.”
“Just be careful with that. It has a hell of a kick.”
“What about her handguns?”
The armorer shrugged. “I guess they were lost in the field with her.”
“It’s a pity. Oh well.” Aya stepped into the morning sun, ready to start her new day.
The range was quiet but for a gently breeze whistling through the trees that bordered the lanes. She passed the pistol and assault-rifle ranges and continued walking for several more minutes, finally coming to the nearly abandoned long-range lanes. The grounds crew had kept them mowed and painted but you could tell there had not been anyone on the firing line for quite some time. 
The Pelican case was set down on a bench and Aya stared at the combination lock on it for several moments before dialing in what she suspected would be the combination. The latch popped and she smiled, feeling herself getting into Jamie Christiansen’s mind and why she chose “0-0-7” for her combination. Tacky and predictable, but even that spoke of her nemesis’ ideas.
The case opened and she saw that the foam packaging had done its job, steadfastly protecting the rifle within. The scope was not attached but had marks on the Picatinny rail that indicated where it was supposed to be mounted. The metal showed a few faint traces of rust but was otherwise blemish free. Even the sniper mat that was rolled up in the one side was clean. There was a scuffmark on the bottom of the stock, an imperfection that stuck out like a sore thumb against the rest of it. It had been cleaned and carefully touched up with a razor to smooth it out but it had to be from being dropped. Something must have happened though she certainly did not let it stop her. It was obvious that Jamie loved the rifle and took incredible care of it.
The bolt was still well oiled and the bore clean so Aya loaded a magazine and settled down onto the mat, sighting through the affixed scope as she rested it on the bi-pod. A quick dry-fire told her that the trigger was light. You could rest the finger against it but any twitch would set it off. 
She sighted in on the thousand-meter target, as she knew Jamie was able to do, and blinked hard several times, willing her eyes to even find the red and white target. Even holding her breath, the target was impossible to see. Jamie must have had her vision augmented in order to see something that far out. 
She turned her sights to the six-hundred meter frame and settled down like she had been taught in her marksmanship class. The crosshairs lined up, she flicked off the safety, checked again, and then started to pull the trig-
The sound was stunning! The sharp recoil broke her focus on the target but the reverberation sounded like thunder as it bounced off of the hills in the distance. The clang of the bullet striking the metal plate came back to her and reminded to check the shot, noting with a mix of glee and disappointment that it was only five inches left of the center. The next shot had her complete focus and it went straight through the middle of the steel, hardly slowing as it ripped through it and kicking up a dust-plume behind it. The next several shots were not as perfect but all hit the target, proving that the rifle was first rate even if the unfamiliar shooter behind it was not. 
It occurred to her that if the gun had a spirit, it might not agree with what she planned. That was the nice thing about tools, though... they had no agenda of their own and could therefore be relied upon.
It was dark by the time she carried the rifle case back to the dorms, and the long session had bruised her shoulder, something whose discomfort was short lived and replaced by the euphoria she so enjoyed.
There was a younger cyborg standing at the second floor landing. Aya caught a look of anger, maybe even hatred, in her brown eyes. Aya had worked with this type-two before but the name had to be dragged from the part of her mind where the unimportant things were kept.
“Do you need something, Maria?”
“Where did you get that rifle?”
“This?” Aya looked at the case and patted it. “It was in the armory.”
“Clean it and put it back. Then never touch it again.”
There was an unmistakable hostility in the girl’s voice, one that reminded her that the Type-Two’s weren’t known for their ability to control themselves emotionally, especially the first few.
“It’s mine now. I’ve taken a liking to it.” She started to move past the girl to continue up the stairs but a strong hand grasped her arm and swung her into the wall sending a thudding sound down the hall.
“You have no right to it!”
“I have every right to it. No one else was using it. Now move!” She started to push the girl aside but found herself flipping onto her back as Maria kicked her legs from under her. The girl’s right hand was on her throat and her left still clutching Aya’s wrist, holding her solid in a stretched chokehold. She could see that Maria was fighting her conditioning even as her anger drove her in the assault.
“You really think she matters any more?” 
Maria clenched harder as Aya spoke in choking gasps, determined to make her pay for her foolish insensitivity.
“Maria!”
The loud voice boomed down the hall and froze Maria in her place. Her hands still held Aya tightly and the woman felt herself starting to fade into unconsciousness.
“Let her go, Maria.”
“No.” Mara fought the wave of pain that rippled through her body and mind at the disobedience. “She has no right to Jamie’s things.”
Mario Greco waved off the six guards and stepped to his cyborg’s side, gently peeling her fingers from Aya’s neck. The woman fell to the floor, gasping for air.
“Jamie is gone, Maria. What are left behind are mere things. The memories of your friend are the most important thing to hold on to, and she would not want you to lash out like this.”
Maria’s eyes gave Mario a flash of annoyance at his observations, a look that ceased when she bolted for the bathroom down the hall, barely making it there in time. Aya carefully climbed to her feet, shaking slightly at the stress she had built up as she had been attacked but restrained by her superior conditioning from fighting back.
“I can see that Ricardo was right. Those type two’s really are inferior in quality.”
Greco’s strong arms shoved Aya against the wall, forcing a shocked gasp from her. The pain from her impact was sharp, then faded and left her excited even as she looked at the anger in his eyes.
“Understand this, Aya: Maria would have killed you just now, even knowing that it would have cost her own life. The sound of that damned rifle has been echoing across the compound and has stirred up some serious memories in a lot of people. You don’t have any friends so maybe it hasn’t crossed your mind as such, but friends can be just as important to someone as Ricardo was to you, and I know at least one other person who would cut you for defiling Jamie’s spirit like you just did.”
He let her go, stepping back to look at the cyborgs who had gathered in the hall among the guards.
“If you’re speaking about Michael Christiansen, I wish him luck. He won’t survive our next encounter.”
Mario shook his head, laughing softly at the foolishness on display. “He’s not an easy mark, Aya. And quite honestly, you simply don’t have what it takes to defeat him. You never will.” He started down the hall towards the bathroom to check on Maria but paused to look back at Aya, knowing he should tell her one other thing. “And for the record, the next time Maria attacks you, I’m going to sit back and watch. If you’re foolish enough to force her hand like that, you deserve to die. She knows what’s at stake and has never taken that lightly. Consider yourself warned.”
Aya’s eyes bored into his back with all of the hatred she could summon. Greco’s lack of respect for her boiled her blood, the insult more than she felt she deserved. Her eyes narrowed, throwing a silent vow at the retreating man.