Page 111 of Gunslinger Girl
And Max… did he have any idea what was happening? Why he was imprisoned?
Pity roused from her ruminations as they entered the elevator. It jolted beneath their feet and began to descend.
Down. She tensed. Not up. “Where are we going?”
“The restricted way,” grunted the Tin Man to her right. He stood a step in front of her, the other, a step behind.
The floor numbers ticked lower. “Is that through the basement?”
“You’ll see when we get there.” He didn’t quite manage to keep the note of irritation out of his voice.
Instinct kicked in, and Pity went cold. Santino hadn’t asked what she knew or how she knew it.
He trusts you, she tried to tell herself. That’s all.
But the icy feeling spread. I’m not alone in this, Sheridan had said. What was Santino doing near her room so soon after she had left Sheridan?
Pieces began to slot together.
Santino was too late to stop the assassination attempt. Daneko narrowly slipped through his grasp, and he was the one who took control of the gang leader as soon as he was captured.
At every juncture, what appeared to have been innocuous timing on his part suddenly seemed as precise as a clock.
And now he knows you were going to warn Selene.
She sucked in a sharp breath as understanding gut-punched her. It must have shown on her face, because when the Tin Man who had spoken glanced back at her a moment later, his eyes were hard. But it was the flash of movement behind her—reflected in the polished metal wall of the elevator—that stirred her from the paralyzing realization. She reached for her guns and turned—
—a fraction of a second too late. The prick of a med injector registered right as her limbs went dead, a cry of surprise misfiring on her lips. One of the Tin Men caught her as she fell—she knew only because she stopped moving. She felt nothing. She was a doll, nothing but rags and stuffing.
The elevator stopped and opened. Her head lolled at an awkward angle, and Pity found herself staring out at the vast, deserted garage.
“Get the truck,” said the man holding her. “Hurry, she’s heavy.”
The other Tin Man rushed off, his boots thumping on the concrete. Pity blinked; she had that much movement still. But even her sight was beginning to dim around the edges. Her thoughts jellified, and she wasn’t sure if they had been waiting for a minute or an hour when her captor carried her a few feet forward and out of the elevator.
“What’s taking so long?” her captor called. His voice echoed faintly.
There was no reply.
With an angry scoff, he lowered her to the ground. Her head knocked against the floor, jostling her sight back into focus. But she was facing the elevator, the whole of her vision filled by its metal panels. The Tin Man’s reflection was a watercolor blur.
Get up! She tried to move, but nothing happened. The world distorted more as tears filled her eyes. She blinked them back. Dammit! Get up! Reach for your guns!
Fresh footsteps sounded.
“Stop!” the Tin Man ordered. “Turn around. This isn’t any business of yours.”
Another blur appeared in the panels.
“I mean it! Not another step forward or I’ll—”
There was a sharp, airy pop, followed by a heavy thump that Pity recognized all too well. Only one blur stood in the wall of the elevator now. Her sight started to fray again, the world churning as someone rolled her onto her back.
A weathered face stared down at her, framed by flickering spots.
Siena Bond.
The spots turned to clouds, and everything went black.
