Mardock Scramble

ignition, the gun still pointed at him all the while.

The engine revved, and Boiled spoke just loudly enough to be heard over it.

“Everyone except for you is dead.”

Medium breathed out heavily, lowering his gun, his hand flopping into his lap, as if to say that he could no longer support its weight.

The vehicle drove off. Medium stared at the entry wound in the back of Boiled’s right hand.

“So, this PI called Oeufcoque, he can make himself look like his employers, can he?” Medium spoke with barely suppressed emotion.

Boiled shook his head.

“So that was actually our target, was it? That girl who fired her gun and put me in this state before I even knew what was going on?”

“He uses special technology to strengthen his employer, enhancing their combined battle skills. It’s all part of Mardock Scramble 09, one of the emergency measures that the Broilerhouse sometimes takes as part of their Life Preservation Program.”

When he heard this, Medium crumpled into a weeping wreck. “We were the perfect hunting pack! And a single bitch ruined it all…”

The gun slipped from his hand. It fell between his legs and slid underneath his seat. Medium noticed, then stared at his own hand as if to say how pathetic. He opened and closed his fingers, lamenting even as he did so that he no longer had the strength even to pull the trigger.

“We need to pull it back, don’t we?” Medium looked at Boiled with pleading eyes. “We men, we set the agenda. It’s men who define what beauty is. We define society, we define war, and we even define what is feminine—or that’s how it used to be, at least. It was men who ruled the world. The creme de la creme, the very best. And yet—a woman, a little bitch, did this to me. We need to get our pride back. Isn’t that right? I’m right, aren’t I?”

Eyes still on the road, Boiled nodded. It was a small but definite movement.

“That’s right. We need to get it back,” he whispered in a low voice. Great globules of tears now pouring down his face, Medium yelled, voice trembling, “I’m going to kill you! I’ll cut you to pieces and pass you around to everyone! Just like we all wanted! I’ll tear you to shreds and own all your body parts!”

02

Balot was in darkness. There was no one near her. She fumbled, trying to escape. She felt that as long as she remained there, she would be subjected to secret horrors…

As she squirmed, Balot noticed a person’s shadow.

It was the Doctor. He looked her way and took a step back.

“Wait!” She reached for him but was only quick enough to catch hold of his patchwork gown.

“Where’s Oeufcoque?” Balot said.

Looking uneasy, the Doctor tried to push Balot back into place. As if Balot had no right to follow the Doctor.

Just then there was a cry of pain from behind the Doctor’s back. Her heart stopped. She realized that Oeufcoque was in another room, suffering.

“Please, let me see Oeufcoque!”

But the Doctor wore an expression of reproach, as if he blamed her for Oeufcoque’s condition.

“I want to apologize! I just want to say I’m sorry! Please…” Balot pleaded.

The Doctor leaned forward, his face filled with doubt. Why? he seemed to want to ask. How come you’re so attached to him, he’s just a mouse, his face seemed to say.

“He never told me to come out of my shell. He just took me to a warm place. He’s so kind, he’d keep an egg nice and warm even if it was all rotten.”

The Doctor tried to push Balot back. Balot struggled desperately to get out of his grip.

“I’m sorry. I’ll apologize. I’m sorry. I want to hear his voice. And feel him in the palm of my hand. This time, I’ll keep my promise. I won’t do anything to hurt him. I promise.”

She pressed back against the force that was trying to pin her shoulders down. She heard Oeufcoque’s cries of anguish in the distance, and a voice nearer to her asking why?

“I don’t want to stay here any longer! I want to be where he is!”

The Doctor suddenly let Balot go. He stood over her, like a priest taking confession. Almost as if he were testing her.

Why was she trying to get away from there? Why was she the one who had to leave? A horribly familiar question started to emerge, one that contained multitudes of other questions in a single question—Why me?

And with this question, the bitter taste of the acrid smoke was revived in her mouth.

“I don’t want to die!”

Balot stood up in the darkness, yelling for all she was worth:

“I…WANT…TO…LIVE!”

And sure enough, that very instant, Balot woke up.

?

Painfully bright white lights shone down into Balot’s eyes from the ceiling. She caught the smell of antiseptic solution and, noticing someone next to her, twisted her body around to look. She gritted her teeth in pain.

Her eyes fell on the figure of a young man.

He had the look of an intellectual about him but wore a cherubic smile. Thin blue veins were visible under the skin of his white forehead. Pale blue eyes stared out at her from under his curly ringlets.

All of a sudden she realized that the youth was holding her hand. Reflexively she tried to shake him off, but he let go of her first. As if he’d sensed Balot’s feelings and acted on them before she even knew them for herself.

The young man stood up from the bedside chair and stepped away from Balot as if he were looking for something. There was nothing he could conceivably have been searching for, though. The room was bare.

Other than the bed Balot was lying on and the chair that the young man had just vacated, it was an empty room.

Everything was stowed away in the walls—it seemed like an expensive private hospital room.

Balot glanced at the door. It had an electric lock, but it was currently off. If she were to touch the panel in front of the door, it should open. That was if the young man didn’t try and stop her first.

Perhaps he’d sensed Balot’s wariness, for the young man raised both arms in the air and shook his head. Like a playful child. He seemed to just be interested in Balot.

It was as if he were a kid who’d just returned from his holidays, impatient to catch up with his friends and swap all the gossip.

Watching the young man carefully, Balot raised a hand to feel what she was wearing. A hospital gown made from insulating material—just like she’d been wearing when she first met the Doctor. The same size, performing the same function.

The young man wore clothes of the same material as Balot. He took something from his pants pocket and rolled it toward Balot. It stopped by her knee. The young man pointed at his ear. Balot picked up the earphone and, staring at the young man, placed it in her right ear.

–Hello.

The earphone spoke. Balot looked at the young man in surprise.

–I heard that your snarc abilities give you an Interference Rate of over 80 percent. Really amazing! So I thought this would be easier for you than speaking.

The young man pushed his forelocks apart. Somewhat surprisingly, Balot saw a protuberance on his forehead, almost like the horn of a young deer.

He tapped his forehead.