Mardock Scramble

“…Sorry about all that. I’m better now,” Oeufcoque said. He raised himself up gently and looked up at Balot.

Large tears still poured out of her eyes.

She wanted to say something.

She wanted to explain all her feelings to him.

But in her deep confusion she wasn’t able to say anything, and the best she could do was try and stop her confusion from pouring out. She didn’t want to hurt Oeufcoque anymore.

“Try and stand up. It’s no use staying here. Let’s get out of this box.”

Balot took a deep breath. Nodding repeatedly, she stood up and stepped out of the elevator.

She wiped her tears away with one hand, carrying Oeufcoque along ever so carefully with her other.

There was nothing on the roof.

Nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.

The cold night air only reinforced Balot’s sense of isolation and helplessness.

“…We need to buy ourselves a little more time. See if you can close all the shutters in the emergency staircase and turn off the elevators.”

Balot manipulated the building’s security system, snarcing it as Oeufcoque had suggested.

But she was under no illusions that this would be enough to stop that man forever. No trap or obstacle was ever going to be able to do that.

“If it comes down to it he’ll just walk up the building’s walls. Keep a lookout for him.”

–He was walking earlier. On the ceiling and the walls.

Just remembering that scene sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

–What is he, exactly? My bullets had no effect on him either.

“PGF—PseudoGravitational Float, it’s called—developed to give soldiers the power of independent movement in space,” Oeufcoque explained. “Powerful magnetic field generators are implanted into your brain and limbs, allowing you to create an artificial gravitational pull in any direction you want. This omnidirectional gravity field allows you to walk along any surface you want—or to deflect the path of any bullets. The reason he can use that enormous revolver is also due to his PGF. Boiled was the prototype—or, you could say, the first victim—of the technology, just before Scramble 09 was enacted.”

Oeufcoque’s eyes were downcast now, and he groaned. “I should have told you all of this before today…I really messed this one up.”

–Why didn’t you? Because you used to be friends?

“Whenever he decides to act, he gives off a characteristic odor. The cold, harsh smell of a mercenary going to war.”

He raised his head and returned Balot’s gaze.

“As long as I could avoid it, I didn’t want to have to speak about him—or how his body worked—behind his back. In the same way that I wouldn’t want to talk about your past or your body in front of other people.”

Balot’s eyes softened.

–You’re so thoughtful.

That was all she said. That was all she could think to say. And then she thought of herself, and how she had forgotten about his thoughtfulness, and she was ready to start crying again.

But then she heard a gunshot down the stairs. The sound of shutters being ripped apart.

She hadn’t bought herself much time.

–Where should I go? There’s nowhere left!

Balot was at the edge of the roof now, hands on the iron railings that ran around the perimeter.

“The Doctor should be here. Close by. Can’t you sense him?” Balot looked up at the night sky. The clouds drifted slowly, revealing the sharp crescent of the moon.

She sensed something from a distance that was gradually coming toward her.

“As soon as he received my emergency distress signal, the Doctor started heading back. He can’t be more than a few minutes away.”

Balot stared at the sky. She thought of an angel descending from the heavens. Just as she had fantasized whenever times were bad at the institute. The angelic visitor who would swoop down out of nowhere and rescue her.

As these memories came flooding back, she felt even more keenly the terrible things that she had done while using Oeufcoque.

Shameful, wretched things.

“Balot…” Oeufcoque called out nervously.

Balot spun around to face the emergency stairs.

The gunfire was getting closer now.

“Do it. Use me to protect yourself.” Oeufcoque’s little body trembled in Balot’s hand.

–I don’t want to hurt you anymore.

“I’ll be fine. I won’t get hurt.”

Balot’s expression tightened.

Right now, all she wanted to do was repent, confess to God, to anything.

All she wanted was to have someone say All is forgiven.

“He’s coming. He’s even faster than I thought.” Oeufcoque’s voice was harsh now.

She could sense the man’s footsteps approaching the door at the top of the stairwell.

Tears fell from her face.

She reached out to Oeufcoque—and snarced him.

He turned with a squelch.

A reassuringly heavy object formed in her hands.

An object with a gun barrel bigger than any she had ever used before.

A gun that would stand up to Boiled’s weapon.

This was Oeufcoque’s will—and a physical response to the danger that was drawing near. And it was customized perfectly for the situation. The grip of the gun turned, squishing into place as a belt that bound the gun to Balot’s left hand. A belt that wrapped her tight. Then it moved on to cover her wrist, with metal contraptions designed to deflect the force of the recoiling gun away from her body.

Bullets slid into place inside the metal frame, and the firing hammer cocked automatically.

And then she knew that her opponent was standing on the other side of the door.

She also knew that he’d be expecting her to be standing there, gun trained on him. She sensed his presence.

The air was pregnant with tension, and an unbearable heart-rending silence flowed all around.

Then the silence was abruptly shattered.

The first gunshots all sounded as one. An overwhelming number of bullets sprang into action. In that one instant, Balot fired off everything that she could.

Gunfire echoed all around, along with the piercing metallic sound of bullets clashing in midair.

A number of Balot’s bullets had managed to pierce the cannonball-like round that emerged from Boiled’s revolver, shooting it down.

The overpowering smell of charred metal spread, and a dense cloud of smoke filled the area.

When her opponent stopped firing, Balot too paused to eject her magazine, and with it the searing heat that had been building up in her gun.

When she started firing again she could feel the shock from the blasts vibrating in her arms. Balot realized what Oeufcoque had been doing—suppressing all his own instincts to reject her, pushing them deep inside himself so that he could fill himself with bullets and be useful to her, protect her.

In turn, Balot carried on snarcing Oeufcoque, helping him to continue. Even as the trigger was pulled and the electronic pulses caused the bullets to fly out the barrel.

She twisted Oeufcoque’s heart and pressed down, hard.