`Roanapur,' Kiki Sheffield smiled crookedly, `A pestilent hive of scum
and villainy.'

	Her, keeper wasn't quite the right word, nor trainer, nor operator --
escort, perhaps? smiled, `I didn't know you knew that movie,' she said, not
turning her gaze from one of the decaying stone buddha guarding the bay.

	`What movie?'  Kiki asked, continuing to lean on the rail, watching
the city, extravagant moniker for the overgrown slum, slip closer.

	`Star Wars?'

	Kiki shook her head, `I'll add it to the list.  Why do I need to see
it?'

	`It's just,' she shook her head, `It changed a lot of people, and
enabled a bunch of technology.

	`Oh,' Kiki kicked the movie lower on her list.  Maybe she'd waste a
couple hours watching a movie sometime and actually pop something off that
list.  Maybe.

			   Genom Research Presents
			    A Suika Roberts Fanfic
			      Death and Rebirth
   (unless someone has a title that hasn't been used a thousand times ^^; )

		    Characters shamelessly borrowed from:
			      _Bubblegum Crisis_
				_Black Lagoon_
		   A hoard of video games I've never played
		    Fred Herriot's BGC: Illusions stories
				     and 
			 Random Fanfic I've read ^^;

	`Why,' Kiki asked softly, hoping for a different answer, `Does Genom
owe this woman a favor?'

	`Genom doesn't.  Mason did, and he traded it off to Yamanaga, who
traded it to Madigan,' Nanami finally took pity on her charge, having spent
most of the last three days teasing her.

	`And Mason's dead,' Kiki slumps, leaning her head back against the
wall, and sighs, `But Madigan'll cover his debt, because she's Madigan.  O.K.
So where's our ride?  I know you're too lazy to walk.'

	`Captain Balalaika said there was supposed to be someone here to meet
us.'  A throbbing rumble, more like a boat engine than a car, turned the
corner at her words, `And here they are, I do believe.'

	Kiki just blinked at the pale green car.  It is about sixty years old,
American, a massive coupe.  She cocks her head at it, and decides it's
probably not a Pontiac or a Ford, and the fenders aren't curvy enough to be an
AMX or a Javelin.  It doesn't really matter to her beyond the hassle of
fitting another two bodies into it, and the pallet of gear . . . might fit in
the trunk.

	A blonde's driving, and a salaryman, complete with tie, is in the
passenger seat.  Kiki contains her laugh to a bare snicker.

	The salaryman flushes, `Are you Balalaika-san's help?' he asks,
standing with one hand on the open car door.

	`Yes, we are,' Nanami nods, `Will we need an extra vehicle for our
gear?'

	The salaryman gives the pallet a quick look, `No, I think we've got
enough room in the trunk, you've packed fairly light, actually,' he says.

	Somehow his opinion doesn't change despite the car's definate sag at
the back after the two cases of clothes, thousand rounds of match-grade .50BMG
for Kiki's thirty-year-old sniper rifle, which, with case and accesories added
another fifty kilos herself, nor the three thousand rounds of .30-'06 for her
even more pretentious hundred-year old light machine gun.

	Salaryman's name is Rock, or Roku (Six), she's not quite sure, the
blonde is Benny, and Dutch helped unload the car while Rebi watched.  They're
off the street in minutes.

	`Well,' Rock starts, after a moment's glancing around at the rest of
his team, `We're the Lagoon company, and we run a boat, light commerce,
retrieval, appropriations-'

	Kiki automaticly translates that to smuggling, burglary, and robbery.

	`Along with the occasional bit of passenger service.  Your client
keeps us on retainer, and we maintain friendly relations with the other
families in town. Because of that, we know that the situation has blossomed to
encompass six dead employees, mostly your clients.  We're to provide you with
any assistance, but your client said you wanted to do this by yourself?'

	`Something of a graduation excersize, yes,' Kiki nods after a glance
at Nanami, `So where have these people died, and what were they doing?'

-*- 

	Two more dead, and a better pattern, so Kiki is sitting on a rooftop,
watching two pretty young things.

	She smiles, wondering at their dress, a sort of goth-loli splendor
more appropriate for a victorian era doll than girls of the '30s, but very
cute.  She cocks her head to one side, a little smile on her lips, as the one
with long hair refers to her short-haired sister as "Oniisama."

	"Oniisama" in turn uses "Oneesama," and a deeper, more boyish, voice
to address her twin, their white-blonde hair, pale skin, and purple eyes . . .
the gentle adoration they show for each other.  Kiki shifts in her seat,
uncomfortable with the wordless "Guh" she's feeling towards them.

	She tenses as the collector arrives, late, in accordance with the
girl's comments, and the short-haired one pulls a short, broad-bladed hatchet,
and the man goes down in a flash of blood.  Long-hair frisks him, then laughs,
`No, he's just another one, not who we need,' she leans forward, and sucks
gently at the bubbling wound at his neck, `Bitter boy-blood,' she pouts, `But
full of death, Oniisama.'

	`Let me taste, Oneesama,' and the man dies while she licks at his
neck.  She gives her sister a kiss, then twines their fingers together while
they look down at the corpse, `Is there anything to do with him, Oneesama?
Shall we carve him?'

	`Not today, Oniisama,' she says, `We only take the ones who are late,
so they're no good,' she puts a delicate pointy-toed boot on the corpse's
back, the chunky inch-high heel on his spine, and pulls the ax free, not
spattering any on her clothes, wipes it, and hands it to her "brother."

	She takes the ax, and vanishes it back into her clothes while her
sister gathers up the long bundle, wrapped in pale-blue patterned cloth, a
tiny teddy-bear dangling from near the top.

	Kiki follows them for a while as they walk away from the scene, the two
inhumanly pretty creatures hand-in-hand as they drift up the grimey streets.
Kiki follows discreetly along the rooftops after them, watching them, quietly
affectionate to each other, and quietly watchful of their surroundings.
Something catches their gaze, drawing their attention down an alley, and they
spook, run, and vanish.  Kiki heads back to the Lagoon Company.


-*-

	Kiki has her ankles crossed, her bare feet leaning into the corner of
the room, legs straight, neck bent as she types, shoulders on the floor and
terminal supported on her belly.

	`Did you find anything?' Nanami asks.

	Kiki nods, looks up at her handler, `Two pretty little leopards.'

	`Leopards?'

	`It's really sad, what you can find if you look.  Twin Romanians,
stars of over two hundred films over the last few years.  I'm astounded
they're as functional as they are.'

	`What are their names?'

	`I don't think they have any,' Kiki shakes her head, `In the films
they're most often called "Hanzel and Gretel."'

	`What kind of films?' Nanami asks, gently, not wanting to know.

	`Nothing good.  Blood and death and rape,' Kiki says, `The films are
Italian, and I think I've extracted enough data for a raid,' Kiki holds out
an optical disk, `Get this to Corprate Security.  Have them find those
bastards and kill them.'

	Nanami looks down at the steady hand holding the disk, the calm eyes
and firm mouth, `Do you want to help?'

	`I,' Kiki shakes her head, `I want them to have been caught four years
ago.  Since that's impossible, I want them dead by tomorrow.  Not even Genom
can get me there that fast.'

	Nanami nods, takes the disk, `I'll DHL it, and it will be in Tokyo by
six this evening.  I don't think CorpSec will be able to move before the day
after tomorrow.'

	Kiki shivers, closes her terminal gently but firmly, and rolls out of
the corner onto her feet, `That will have to do.'

	`And what does this do to your agreement with Balalaika?'

	`I agreed to take care of them,' Kiki suddenly smiles, `And that is
deliciously open to interpretation.'

	Nanami blinks, then shakes her head, the right corner of her mouth
twitching upwards just a tiny bit.

	`Did I pack any NLAP?  I can find a twelve-gauge if I remembered it.'

	Nanami walks out, and Kiki follows her.  After a little searching
Nanami hands her a plain white box, which Kiki opens to show fifty white
two and a half inch shells.

	`So the Italians here are the same family?'

	`Stupid of them, don't you think?' Kiki nods, closing the box again.

-*-

	The Mosberg 500 probably predates the first gulf war, but it's in
decent shape, and so long as it gets cleaned properly after the NLAP, it may
be good for another forty years.  Kiki feeds its tube magazine full, and
tosses the rest of the shells into her cargo pockets, amused by the way the
slosh and rattle as she walks.

	The leopards should hit another Russian tonight, and only one of the
bars' protection money is due.  The long coat is pretentious, the surplus BDUs
practical, and she settles down to watch.  When the leopards walk in, LMG
wrapped and cradled in the long-haired girl's arms, the short-haired girl's
coat billowing, she takes that as a sign to slip out the back.

	The Russians arrive as she comes back around to the front of the bar,
and provoke the leopards somehow.  One of them dies instantly.  The
long-haired girl smiles as she rakes the bar with thirty-cal, and jokes,
smiling, as she changes out a little twenty-round mag.  Her sister complains
that the living Russian is heavy, and she should help drag him.

	`But you're the boy,' she answers, smiling happily, then puts a burst
into someone who was dumb enough to move in the bar.  They're loaded in
moments, and speed off.

	Kiki watches the red dot superimposed on the satellite imagery jerk
along the roads, updating every thirty seconds, stopping, after about five
minutes, in at the Italian's main building.  Her shoulders slump, and she
trudges off after them, sure they couldn't be that stupid, and wondering how
she'll find them again now that they've changed cars.

-*-

	Dawn finds her watching them play with the Russian, who's still warm
and bleeding, but finally dead.  She's impressed at how long they kept him
alive, but not nearly as impressed with the Italians.

	They start in on her leopards, complaining about the mess, and a
smiling, bloody girl reminds him of how a corpse will keep twitching when you
stimulate it right.  Kiki drops off the building she was watching from, and
walks in the front door.  The doorman's a local, so she grabs him by the face
and gives him a good shake.  He makes a crackling noise, and slumps, boneless,
when she drops him.

	The man at the top of the stairs is an Italian, and she shoots him in
the knee.  He drops, screaming piteously.  The next one she shoots in the
crotch, and he just drops, mouth open, in too much pain even to breathe.  She
watches, and he passes out, then starts breathing.  She kicks him when she
walks past.  Three more round the corner, and she wings one, gets one full in
the chest, and the last one catches half a blast to the face.  They all
remember how to scream, at least, and Kiki feeds the gun five more shells.

	`Now,' she steps around the corner, shoots the one man holding a gun.
The three nearest him drop as well, a high-pitched keen coming from the one
who forgot how to scream, `Non-lethal anti-personnel.  Developed for the
American market, but it has problems,' she smiles, and one of the standing men
pisses himself, `Hydrochloric acid eats shotguns, unless you're really careful
about cleaning them.  The mix is actually less-lethal, rather than
non-lethal,' she shoots the one trying to sneak up behind her, `And they
managed to classify it as a law enforcement only munition, rather than the
self-defence market we were aiming for, so,' she shrugged, `I've got a lot of
it to waste.'

	The tall blonde drops to his knees, `Please don't kill me!'

	`Oh?  Didn't you bring the leopards here?'

	`Yes!'

	`How'd you get this job?'

	`I did well with the film division in Sicily,' he's actually crying,
`They're in there, just kill them and let me go.'

	`Really?  So you got them from Romania?'

	`No, I got them from a broker in Milan.'

	`Close enough,' she shot the man next to him, a few scattered chunks
ripping through his shirt.  He screams in agony, curling into a ball as the
man she shot keens pitifully, back arched so that only his feet and shoulders
touch the floor.

	She looked at the last two, `You're sloppy,' she told them, `I
shouldn't know who's here, and what they're up to.  I shouldn't know that all
eight of your night shift guys will never cause anyone trouble again.  I
shouldn't be looking forward to what the leopards are likely to do to you.'

	The one who'd pissed himself whimpers.  The other dives, rolls, and
reaches into his coat.  She shoots him, and his empty hand closes convulsively
as he gasps for air around the pain.

	She walks over and prods the only one who's not alternately screaming
and gasping for breath with a toe, `If you torture a man to death, and no one
films it, did it happen?'

	He looks up at her, then his eyes roll back in his head and he goes
limp on the floor.

	`Coward,' she tells him, then reloads the gun.

	`You're pretty,' the long-haired girl tells her, from her place
draped, swooned, in the doorway, clad in only a white underdress, blood soaked
from hem to knees, across her chest, under her forearms, drying on the white
lace at her cuffs.  Her sister has her arms around her waist, a long white
shirt, similarly bloody, coming down to the middle of her thigh, a spot of
blood on her cheek, her chin on her sister's shoulder, `Isn't she, Onii-sama?'

	`She is, Onee-sama.  Very pretty,' her sister says, in her boy-voice.

	`Well,' Kiki smiled at them, some complex emotion coiling in her
chest, `I think you both are pretty, too, and I thought I'd make you a
present.'

	`Oh?  Are they dead?'

	`No, they're alive,' she kicks the blonde man, and he screams
hoarsely, then drops back to his broken whimpering, `And hurting.  I think a
couple of them might die soon, but they're still alive for now.'

	`Wow,' the long-haired girl gushes, `Onii-sama, a present, just for
us!'

	`No one's ever made a present for me or Onee-sama before,' her sister
gives her a tight hug, wiggling against her.

	`You didn't strike me as the kind of girls who'd like a dozen roses,
and while a bakers dozen of Italian criminals wouldn't give you much trouble
you can play with them more easily this way.'

	`A dozen Italians?  Onii-sama,' the long-haired girl twists in her
sister's arms and kisses her on the lips, joy and affection obvious in the
exchange.

	Kiki blinks, and gulps, and wonders if she should worry about the warm
sense of accomplishment that curls in her belly at the sight.

-*-

	Watching them, Kiki thinks, is gleefully cinematic.  They're artful
about their torture, even though they obviously enjoy their focused careful
work.  She shifts, draws the long-haired girl's hair back when she  reaches to
push it out of the way with a bloody hand.  Kiki tucks the gun under one arm
as she ties the girl's hair with a bit of shoelace.

	She steps back, leans back against a wall, looks back into the girl's
eyes after a scan of the room.

	The girl smiles, `Thank you,' she rubs at her cheek, leaving a streak
of blood, `That was sweet of you,' she turns back to the whimpering form of
the blonde chief, and shoves another sliver of wood under his fingernail.  He
gasps, a hoarse sound that would be a scream if he could still manage it.

	This one and the one Kiki shot in the crotch are the only ones left.
The one who'd pissed himself died without waking, his throat crushed by a
disdainful stomp from a dainty bare foot.  The crotch-shot one had yet to
react to any new stimulus, but the others had died, some from torture,
some when they went catatonic, and thus boring.  Those bled out so quickly
Kiki was surprised.

	A moment later a confused expression clouds the chief's face, and he
expires.  The short haired girl perforates his lung with a penknife one of
them had been carrying, but doesn't even get any bubbles.  She pouts, `I
wanted to hear him gurgle, Onee-sama.'

	`I'm sorry, Onii-sama, I thought he'd last longer.'

	After a few cracked knuckle bones and rubbing chunks of NLAP shot into
the last man's abraided face doesn't get any reaction they take turns stabbing
him, listening to the gurgles as they get fainter, his lungs deflating as
faster than they fill with blood.  When he's dead they wipe
their hands and faces on less-bloody bits of clothing pulled from various of
the corpses.

	`Miss,' the long-haired girl says, approaching, `No one's ever, so, if
you'd like,' she smiles, and pulls up the blood-soaked lace hem of her skirt.

	Kiki stares at the two blood-smeared, smiling, happy girls, then drops
to her knees, sets the shotgun down beside her, and gathers both of them into
a hug, smelling blood, offal, and young girl as she lays her head on their
shoulders.  They startle a bit, then hug her back.

	`Not now,' she tells them, protectiveness, affection and a horrible
bit of lust swirling in her belly.  `The cops are likely to come by in a bit,
I was noisy.  I'm staying with the Lagoon company, and I can find you a bed
there if you'd like?'

	`Thank you, Miss,' the short-haired one says, her boy-voice warm and
affectionate.

---
Log:
2007/Nov/8:	Decided to try writing up 50Kwords.  Maybe I'll make it, maybe
		not.  This is in the Miyuki-gunso universe, with Black Lagoon
		mashed in.
2007/Nov/21:	A little more.  3K of 50K.  Doesn't look like I'll make it by
		the end of the month at this rate ^_^