Mardock Scramble

“Now, let’s break some eggs. All set?”

A piece of machinery in the dining room that looked like a large refrigerator started grinding away.

It was a machine that the Doctor and Oeufcoque had built together, designed specifically for the purpose of extracting Shell’s memories from the four chips. The idea was that Oeufcoque digested the raw data, processed it, and fed it to Balot, who physicalized the data into a form that could be recorded by the machine.

Balot snuggled deep into her easy chair and closed her eyes.

She experienced a different feeling from the time when she’d fixed her fake ID at the cafe with Oeufcoque, and one also distinct from her swim through the pool of information back at Paradise.

Her task now was to relive, as much as was possible, the life of another human being, selecting only the most pertinent pieces of information.

The first thing she heard was a voice. A low speaking voice. The sound swelled, dissonant and echoing all around her head, until it finally burst deep inside her, leaving only silence in its wake.

Balot’s ears pricked up, and she realized that she was somewhere she had never seen before.

A second later, she realized that she was standing there.

She was walking toward someplace. She seemed to be in the pleasure quarter of Mardock City. She came across a girl she had never seen before. A blonde, fourteen or fifteen.

The girl said something. Balot said something back to the girl.

For a moment a Blue Diamond sparkled inside the girl’s breast. An image of the rings on the right hand. The index finger on the right hand swelled up, and Balot saw playing cards and cars and drinks.

What number was this girl? Was she Shell’s first? Memories flooded her head, and Balot realized that the girl in front of her was indeed one that Shell had bought. At that same moment the girl started speaking. Balot couldn’t make out what the girl was saying; there was too much noise, too many other voices. Eventually the distractions subsided, and Balot could discern a number of phrases, snatches of conversation.

“I don’t want to go back to my father’s house,” the blonde girl said. Her voice was urgent. Balot felt overwhelmed by empathy.

“Please, don’t make me go back to my father.”

“Of course not. I’ll protect you, my little one. I’ll take you to a safe place. You’re beautiful. And you’re about to become even more beautiful.” A surge of empathy welled up inside him. Suppressed, over and over, many times. A crystal. The luster of a Blue Diamond. Then a great loss befalls both, all turns to dust. The processing commences.

The memory faded, and the jewel replaced it. The inevitable ritual that accompanied the death of memory.

The urge always appeared after a similar event—it was triggered by something. The death of a girl, murder dressed as suicide. Why me? The answer was sinking into the depths. A flashback that was doomed to wander through eternity, unknown and unknowable by anybody.

–Balot, stay conscious. This is all virtual reality.

Balot nodded in her own mind and started to strip the first memory of all excess information, peeling away the fat. She realized that more and more information was welling up in its place. Memories of sounds, light, pain. Memories of anger, pleasure, conversations. These emotions cut across the scene and the motives and intentions of the feeler started to form distinct, tangible shapes.

“Excellent! We’re starting to establish concrete proof of Shell’s emotional state…”

It was the Doctor, speaking from somewhere. It was the last thing Balot heard from the real world. Instead, fragments of information that had been submerged in the morass of the dark abyss were now bubbling up and assaulting all of Balot’s senses, penetrating through her skin.

–You need to organize all this information into some kind of system, Balot. At the moment, none of it makes sense. Return to the starting place and try again.

Suddenly the cityscape of Mardock City unfolded before her eyes again. First office blocks at noon, then the dark shantytowns of the slums, then a casino kiosk, a place to hold business transactions with persons unknown.

Memories of the sweet rush of success that accompanied the first ride in the AirCar. A number of girls were plucked from the pool of memory and held in front of her, appearing one by one in front of her eyes.

The girls were standing on a bridge, silent, eyes closed. Wind blowing in from the sea. The shadow underfoot crept and then rushed in, and night fell. Eventually each of the memories fell into place, and the girls opened their eyes.

The girls all had Blue Diamonds for eyes. Balot shrieked in surprise.

One of the girls started walking backward across the bridge, as if she were in a movie and somebody had pressed the rewind button.

Balot followed after her. When she arrived at the bridge she saw the bright lights of the city on the other side. A casino shone out like a beacon of light, and all around it tall buildings, houses, garages, all engraved with the symbol of OctoberCorp.

A new image floated up: brain surgery. A young boy on the operating table. The girl that Balot had been chasing was now walking around the table in circles. The girl’s mouth popped open and from it spewed forth the grating sound of a saw against a skull bone. Something was removed, something was transplanted in its place. Of course, the chip inside the brain was also firmly engraved with the ubiquitous OctoberCorp symbol. The reason I chose this casino to hold my Shows? Doesn’t a salmon return upstream in order to spawn?

“There’s nowhere I want to return home to,” said the girl, over the sound of the cranial saw. “But I wish I had someplace that I wanted to return home to.”

“Leave it to me. Come home with me.”

Then the girl died of an overdose.

That’s a lie, cried the world. A lethal dose of drugs would have been wasted on her. Death by narcotic misadventure? Merely a pretext, a facade for the public. He had just strangled her as she slept. This was the last time he would strangle anyone to death. Too much hassle, too much to tidy up afterwards. His headaches just got worse and worse.

Stress. He needed something that gave him absolute, total euphoria. Heroic Pills were perfect.

You walk the path of unhappiness. That’s right. A vision of a large man. Something bad will happen all around you before too long. Trouble. That’s what the man said. If Mardock Scramble 09 is called, I’ll have far greater jurisdiction than any public organization. The ultimate bodyguard.

–Boiled must have known that the Doctor and I were on Shell’s tail. That’s why he arranged to be in Shell’s employ just before the case started. These memories are from around that time…

Psychelaundering. In order to understand my business practices, you have to understand me first. Look at these Blue Diamonds. They’re my business credentials. Seven in total. Apparently, six lives have been forfeited so far. I tried to help the girls. I tried to save them. I want to know why I’m so frightened all the time.

“Why am I so frightened?”

–Balot, stay focused on your own consciousness! You’re not actually experiencing Shell’s feelings yourself!

I killed one with a gun, but that wasn’t very satisfying. It left a bad taste in my mouth. Guns are no good. I’ll have to find another method. Memories—even when they’re gone, they still affect my mind. I need to find a way to kill her while keeping my distance. And also be able to recover her remains safely. I’ll trigger an explosion.

I’ll use the insurance on my AirCar. Pin the blame on the girl. Make out that it was her own fault.

“Never doubt. It’s the road to ruin.”

–No, Balot. Those are your own memories. Let’s try and work through this chronologically. Begin once more.

The third girl was an accident. So called. The brakes were tampered with.

“A moving car is no good. It confuses my memory. Memories—even when they’re gone, they still affect my