We are all dying. Some of us will leave as infants or elders, quickly or slowly, under better circumstances or worse; but none escape. Fear of death is said to be a universal constant among the sentient, and so the commonality of death and dying in our culture is hardly remarkable. Indeed, it would be remarkably inhuman to deny that fear. It is because of it that we immortalize the bold, who often earn their recognition in conjunction with a status of "deceased." We are told that the world needs more heroes in the same breath as, "don't be a hero." Our lives are important to us, whether we like it or not.

Enter a young girl. When we first meet her, she is alive — but for all intents and purposes, her life ended when a group of assailants made her watch as they violated and murdered her family, before turning their attentions toward her. An entity of the Italian government, known as the Social Welfare Agency, claims the ability to help her, and in a manner of speaking, they do. They mend her broken body, using cybernetic implants designed to increase her strength, agility, and tolerance for pain, and they put her through a round of mental conditioning to erase her former life from her mind, troubles and all. She is assigned a handler, José Croce (Giuse, in the localization), who will take responsibility for her, and give her a new name for her new life. Meet Henrietta: the latest addition to the government's corps of adolescent female assassins.

Gunslinger Girl attempts to carve an omnibus portrayal of life out of a close proximity to death. The girls' raison d'être is to kill people. They exhibit unquestioning dedication to the job, which includes placing the lives of their handlers above even their own, but otherwise their behaviors and motivations are as unique as any ordinary person. Triela is blunt and outgoing, Claes is a bookworm and enjoys idle time, Rico is naïve and curious, Elsa is antisocial and serious, and Henrietta falls somewhere in the balance between the others. It is not unfair to label the characters as archetypal; however, the relationship each shares with her handler proves to be interesting. Also, there is Angelica — a special case, being the eldest in terms of implantation date. We are not given the opportunity to learn much about her, but she provides valuable insight into the group as a whole.

A handler's job is to train his charge, relay orders, and act as a check on any errant behavior she exhibits that might jeopardize the mission. Having similar training, the handlers often participate in the operations. Each team of handler and cyborg is called a fratello, the Italian word for brother. Incidentally, the show pseudo-fourth-walls us a couple times by identifying the handler/cyborg relationship with the cute little sister trope — something that I suspect is not commonplace outside Japan.

It's difficult to put my finger on the pulse of Gunslinger Girl. It certainly walks a fine line, with its insistence on the cyborg populace being exclusively adolescent female, and the handlers all being adult male. Some viewers may find difficulty in looking past the otaku-appeal factor — the show's other offerings are more subtle. Superficially a character study, focused on how a handler's treatment of his partner affects her development, Gunslinger Girl also presents itself much like a clinical trial — apply these treatments to those subjects and see what happens. Instead of using the organization and its experiments as bedrock for telling the story of a few teenagers, the experiment largely is the story. The show encourages viewers to study each girl's responses to various stimuli more so than it asks us to care about her as a person. The fact that each cyborg is operating with whitewashed brains contributes to the authenticity of the results.

In fact, the clinical nature of the premise has a desensitizing effect that the show might have done better without. Given that we are already encouraged to see the girls as test subjects, it becomes difficult to recognize virtue in anything they do. If a normal girl were to jump in front of her brother in a gunfight, we would rightfully call the action heroic. When a cyborg girl does the same, is it merely the expected result her conditioning all but guarantees? Incidentally, the show tells us very little about the conditioning, other than it shortens the girl's lifespan. There is a silent conflict between the handlers, who are reluctant to condition their girls further, and the leadership and scientists, who see it as a one-stop solution to all behavioral anomalies.

Despite the experimental controls, the girls are human, for some definition thereof, and they do exhibit behaviors that confound the expectations of their handlers and the scientists. For instance, Henrietta has a tendency to jump the gun in protecting her handler, when the situation may not have warranted such swift action, or any at all. Later on, we are able to contrast that behavior with Rico, who steps in only when the threat to her handler is imminent. The show does manage to place some importance on the emotional needs of the girls, at least in the context of maintenance. Henrietta is rather attached to Jose, and wouldn't perform as well if he didn't acknowledge and even reward her feelings. In the ninth and tenth episodes, we witness what happens when a handler is ignorant of, or flat-out denies, those needs.

I mentioned Angelica before. In no small part, she represents the simple desire each girl shares, to have the earnest support of their handlers. She came to the agency after her father tried to kill her for insurance money, and it's no surprise that the conditioning fails to completely erase that betrayal from her subconscious mind, much like how Henrietta's past would seem to explain her overprotective nature. Angelica's handler, Marco, distances himself from her as symptoms of the conditioning surface and become prominent. Oddly, the whole setup reminds me of a hospice, where the patient knows she is dying, and the family and friends unwittingly detach, as if bracing for the impact. Fear of abandonment and fear of loss combine for a double dose of heartache. The last couple episodes manage to put aside the experiment and treat all involved as human beings, worthy of our affection.

I would be remiss if I didn't give praise to the work of director Morio Asaka (and staff) and composer Toshihiko Sahashi, who together made the experience of viewing the show quite memorable. Sahashi's music is a refined blend of classical and contemporary styles, and the direction reveals a deep understanding of rhythm and pitch — the blending of the show's themes with the music being quite skillful. The list of anime works in which the show does the music justice is, to me, very short, and Gunslinger Girl has a place on that list. The show also has a few instances of visually stunning imagery, an example being the symmetry displayed in a murder scene in episode 10. In an industry where productions are granted swift reprieve for the poor job they do at telling a story, on account of restrictive licenses and budgets, some manage to rise to the challenge and cast the others in the poor light they deserve. This show earns my wholehearted recommendation.