Mardock Scramble

Then she kissed her silk gloves, showing her gratitude to a shell of her very own.

–So, where’s the last of our prey? The basement, they said?

“Don’t refer to them that way—you’re not supposed to be enjoying yourself. Are you?”

Balot laughed.

–I don’t know if I am or if I’m not. All I know is that I’m doing just what you two taught me to do.

“But I…”

–And I want to get better. Like that guy just then. Close up.

“And the idea of hand-to-hand combat doesn’t scare you?”

–Why should it? It’s what I’ve got to do, right?

“Well, yes, but…”

–What a half-baked little thing you are, my soft-boiled Oeufcoque.

Balot impishly called out his name, a play on words, playing with him, and kissed her other hand.

–Don’t you worry. Trust me. I’ll pull it off, she informed him, matter-of-fact, smiling.

03

Welldone reached the bottom of the stairs and arrived at the basement in front of the door to the garage.

All of a sudden the whole building seemed to shake.

–What was that vibration?

Welldone raised his gun as he asked the question, but Flesh’s reply was bemused.

–It doesn’t make sense. The sensors just showed a heat reading large enough for an exploding bomb, but it came from a room that had absolutely no heat readings up till now. No one could have been in there. Maybe a trap that they set—something could have triggered it?

–But those vibrations tugged at my chest. Almost as if one of us had blown himself up.

Welldone was transmitting in a whisper now.

–Surely not, Well! After all, everyone’s heading right your way just this moment!

–Everyone…?

–Medi, Rare, Mincemeat…

Flesh hesitated.

–But according to Rare’s report, Mincemeat’s gone down, right, Flesh?

–That’s true…but all my circuits are secure now, so all our info should be completely safe from the hacker.

–The enemy could have extracted Mincemeat’s transmitter from his head. The marker with Mincemeat’s name—that’s him.

–I guess so…

–Or possibly—the same thing could have happened to the others too…

–Huh?

–Will this damn door still not open, Flesh?

–Wait a second longer—I’ve just got the lock off. Boy, this is some security system. I don’t get it; it must be so inconvenient to go through all this on a daily basis…

Welldone ignored Flesh’s words and watched the barrier walls as they opened out to both sides.

As a wall, it really was quite something. According to their calculations it was up there with a full-on nuclear shelter in terms of strength and impact resistance.

Welldone passed through the door and stood in the parking lot.

It looked like a perfectly run-of-the-mill lot, with spaces for about ten cars, delineated by thick pillars and steel frames. There were two freight elevators lined up side by side, and one of these had its door left open.

There was a set of shutters down at the car park entrance, but nothing compared to the incredible gate he’d just come through.

The moment Welldone noticed the shutters at the end of the parking lot he stopped moving toward the meeting point and swung around, looking back at the entrance he’d come in through.

It was a completely ordinary door.

Just a normal automatic door, and it even had a transom on top—the shutters on your average twenty-four- hour convenience store were more solid.

–Our visual circuits have been hacked! Welldone yelled angrily at the back of his brain. He kicked the door in frustration. One side of the door bent with a loud crack and its hinges flew off, clattering down the corridor.

–It’s just an ordinary automatic door! I was standing there with my dick in my hands, waiting in front of a door that I could have just pushed open! Flesh, give me a reading on the others’ positions!

A click, and Welldone saw an image of three blue flashing lights converging on him.

–Flesh?

No answer.

Welldone grabbed a gun in each hand and bent down, pressing his back to the wall.

The flashing dot representing Rare was coming down the stairs behind him. The flashing dot representing Medium was in an elevator heading down to the lot. And the flashing dot representing Mincemeat came toward him from the emergency stairs on the other side of the parking lot, swaying from side to side as it descended.

“Specters, all of you…” Welldone muttered, a seething mass of indignation. “This is a disgrace! Rare! Medi! Answer me if you’re there!”

Yelling now, he jumped up and ran toward the phantom figure coming down the stairs.

He lifted his guns and fired.

The bullets sped into the darkness, embedding themselves into the walls and dislodging some plaster.

At the bottom of the staircase he spun around, firing simultaneously at the elevator and emergency stairs.

The echo of the gunshots reverberated all around, and then the crisp sound of empty cartridges clinking to the ground.

His bullets were soon spent. He slammed his back to the wall, creeping along bit by bit, expelling the guns’ magazines. He opened up his coat and, in a well-rehearsed move, shoved the bases of his guns toward the spare magazines that were clipped to his sides, pressing them into his body.

He pulled, and the magazines clicked off, making a noise like the pin on a hand grenade.

Each hand pressed a switch on the grip, the breechblock slid into place automatically, and the bullets were all ready to go.

“These babies have got your names on them! Show your asses!” he screamed, eyes scouring the darkness.

He was answered by an earsplitting noise.

The sound of a radio.

The car stereo from one of the vehicles in the corner of the parking lot blared loudly, headlights flashing. Its engine revved violently.

The blare from the radio turned into the furious drumbeat of electroclash.

The tires scorched the concrete, and the car charged toward Welldone.

Welldone jumped away from the wall.

The car plunged at him. The steering wheel spun around, cutting a tight turn, and the car bounded up and down, chasing him, suspension grating, headlights flashing ominously.

“Fuck you!” Welldone fired shot after shot. He jumped onto the oncoming car, an abnormally powerful jump,