by Ubukata, Tow
–Oeufcoque! Balot cried out to the gun. A heartfelt cry, different from any that had gone before.
–Oeufcoque, please answer me! Help me, Oeufcoque!
There was impatience in her plea now. Like she was trying to un-crush something that she had unthinkingly squeezed to pieces.
Balot called out Oeufcoque’s name as if she were trying to piece back together a broken egg.
The gun in her hands warped into a crooked shape.
The gloves that had been melded together now split apart, and from that gap a bundle of fluffy honey-colored fur emerged.
–Oeufcoque.
Gwah…a slight moan. Oeufcoque’s limbs twitched, convulsing, and he writhed in Balot’s palms in agony.
Like the man he had just shot.
Without warning, Oeufcoque was violently sick.
A large volume of vomit spewed from his mouth, more than seemed possible from his tiny body, and dripped through Balot’s gloved fingers.
–Oeufcoque? Oeufcoque? What’s the matter?
Balot’s eyes filled with tears.
Oeufcoque vomited again.
He spoke in a raspy voice, as if he were wringing something out of his body in between his heavy breathing. “Let go of me.”
Balot didn’t understand what he meant by those words. Rather, she tried to hug him tighter to her than ever.
As she did so, Oeufcoque twisted his head around to try and shake her off. “Please don’t touch me…I’m begging you. Let me down, please…”
Gwah…he was sick again.
Balot stood there like an idiot. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do—and Oeufcoque, the very person who was supposed to tell her, was frantically trying to escape from her hands.
Desperate now, she tried to pin Oeufcoque down, tried to stop his limbs from writhing around.
“Stop it! Leave me alone!”
Balot shook her head, determined. Her eyes were soon overflowing with tears.
She desperately searched for an escape route from the horrible feeling that overwhelmed her, the feeling of being plunged into a pit of darkness, and Oeufcoque was the only person she could think of that could save her.
Oeufcoque vomited still more copiously, then collapsed limp and senseless.
Balot stood there silently, waiting for Oeufcoque to speak.
She was more scared than she had ever been. She felt like she had been turned down, with stinging words of rejection thrown into her face.
Tears flowed, but all she could do was wait.
But when he did finally speak, it was to tell her something completely different.
“He’s coming…” Oeufcoque spoke in the reediest of voices. “Go to the roof. The Doctor will…quickly.”
Confused, Balot tried to work out what he meant. And also how she could best apologize to Oeufcoque. Her thoughts flew from one place to another.
Then she noticed the presence of something coming toward her—something large.
She raised her head. Her tears had stopped.
An incredible mass of something was charging toward the shutters at the other end of the car park.
A threat.
Balot snarced Oeufcoque as a reflex action.
Oeufcoque let out a cry of pure anguish.
A loud crunching noise silenced his cry.
The shutters exploded open, and a giant trailer rushed into the parking lot. It smashed through a number of pillars, a wake of sparks behind it, zigzagging across the space and scraping up against the walls, before finally running aground on the rubble.
The coupling connecting the vehicle to the container split, and the giant container was thrown toward the pillar where Welldone lay prostrate.
Sandwiched between the concrete and the giant silver container, Welldone’s body burst like a balloon.
Balot stared at the monstrosity that had just emerged from the blazing inferno, still holding Oeufcoque, her back to the wall.
The air was fizzing with tension.
She could see a man getting up from the driver’s seat.
She heard the door swing open, and a man came toward her, walking over the flame-flickering rubble.
“Run away…” A cracked voice emerged from Oeufcoque’s lips.
But Balot stood still, staring at the overwhelming figure of the man. Not out of fear. Compared to what had just happened to Oeufcoque, she wasn’t afraid in the slightest.
On the contrary, she felt excited—uplifted, even.
The flames from the fires lit up the man’s features.
The blank features of the giant man.
The man who had threatened Balot on the roadside, at the courtroom.
His name was Dimsdale-Boiled, and he was stepping over the body of the man he had just crushed and coming right at her, an enemy and a true threat.
“She knows nothing about weapons, Oeufcoque. You shouldn’t allow yourself to be used by such a person,” Boiled said.
Oeufcoque pulled himself up in Balot’s palm. “So, after sending your hit men you’re going to interfere directly, are you? You’re no different from these assassins yourself, Boiled. Forever absorbed in your own private vendetta.”
“Come back to me, Oeufcoque. You deserve to be utilized more effectively,” said Boiled.
Balot glared at Boiled.
Boiled wasn’t even looking at Balot.
“Effectively, you say! Have you forgotten what you did with me?” Oeufcoque was shouting now. A voice steeped in anger, one that Balot had never heard before.
“It’s all the same, Oeufcoque. That little girl’s hand, my hand—we’re all looking for exactly the same thing.” Boiled’s eyes were so dark he could have been asleep.
Oeufcoque shouted, “No! This girl’s different!”
Hearing his words Balot suddenly felt extremely sad.
Oeufcoque whispered to her. “You have to run away, Balot. In this sort of situation, discretion is the better part of valor…”
Balot stared straight ahead at Boiled.
–No. I’m going to stay and fight. I don’t want to run away.
“It’s no use, this guy is…”
–This person is a threat to me. I need to fight him.
Boiled slipped his hand inside his jacket.
“Boiled, wait…”
Balot reflexively wrapped Oeufcoque around her fingers and snarced him.
“Balot!”
–Please. Try and understand my feelings.
The man standing in front of Balot’s eyes had once terrified her so completely that she had lost all hope of living.
Now, standing in front of this man—and despite Oeufcoque’s words—she simply couldn’t run away.
She knew that if she fled now, she’d never be able to stand up for herself again.
But that didn’t necessarily mean that she had made the right decision.
Pinned down by the sheer force of Balot’s will, Oeufcoque turned. At the same time Boiled pulled out his gun. A six-round revolver—and a palm-sized artillery gun.
It fired, savagely.
Balot fired into the round’s trajectory.
There was a vibrant display in midair, and Balot’s bullet disintegrated as it hit her opponent’s, but her bullet did succeed in deflecting the shell’s path.
An instant later the bullet slammed into the wall behind her, echoing oppressively through the parking lot. The bullet seemed powerful enough to cut straight through the wall.
Boiled fired again.
Balot saw the angle of the muzzle the second before the shot went off and jumped sideways to dodge the bullet.
A crevice opened in the wall behind her, and the air swirled around from the scorching trail of heat that the bullet left in its wake.
Balot fired back at him, frantically, as she ran.
Boiled didn’t budge but fired again, unconcerned.
He was different from any opponent she’d faced before. Every single shot of his was careful, potentially instantly fatal. T
he pressure was tsunami.
One false move and every molecule of her could be wiped off the face of this earth.
In order to try and escape the unbearable oppression bearing down on her, Balot ran in the direction that made it hardest for her opponent to follow, and she fired back at him as she ran, desperately trying to distract him, but there was no change in Boiled’s rhythm as he continued firing, apparently unconcerned by anything.
Something was wrong.
Carefully watching her opponent, Balot slipped behind a pillar. Another bullet came at her, slamming into the pillar with such impact that she had to suppress the reflex to jump and run screaming.
And that was when Boiled’s gun ran out of bullets.
Balot leapt out from behind the pillar and fired as many shots as she could at him.
But Oeufcoque could no longer contain the shock from the recoil inside himself, and both Balot’s hands throbbed in pain.
Boiled was coolly reloading his revolver, and he showed no inclination to move even as her volley flew at him.
Rather, it was her bullets that moved.
Their trajectories strayed, and they hit the rubble behind Boiled in a trail of sparks.
Overcome with surprise, Balot stopped firing.
Boiled looked at Balot’s face. “So, no one told you anything about me?” He spoke, flicking his gun sideways. With a vigorous click the chamber slotted back into place in his revolver. “I’m a product of the forbidden arts, just like you—another monster.” Boiled’s expression was now twisted in a curious sneer. Like a smile that peered out at the world from the bottom of the abyss.
Cold sweat drenched Balot’s body. Her knees trembled, and her gun shook.
Boiled’s arm came up. The giant gun barrel was, once again, trained casually on Balot.
Her stomach lurched.
Before she even had time to think Balot found herself flying for cover behind another pillar.
The pillar was hit by a blow that shook it to the core.
Balot engaged her abilities. Her last chance, her last resort.
A car engine revved up in the corner of the parking lot.
Snarced by Balot, the car sped toward Boiled, tires screeching.
Even then, Boiled made no move.
For the first time ever, the fear of battle weighed heavily on Balot’s shoulders. Still entrenched behind the pillar, gasping for air, she plunged the car toward Boiled with all her might.
Without warning Boiled disappeared abruptly from Balot’s spatial perception.
The car sped over the rubble, flew through the air, and smashed into the side of the container.
Reflexively Balot emerged from behind the pillar to survey the results.
She felt Boiled’s presence with every nerve ending in her body. She understood immediately what had happened. She just couldn’t believe it.
Boiled was on the ceiling.
Balot looked up in astonishment, and Boiled was standing there, looking down at her.
Even the hem of his coat was upside down, fluttering gently in the breeze.
Silently Boiled started walking across the ceiling. Avoiding the pipes and electric cables. And pointing his gun at Balot.
“Run away…” Oeufcoque’s distressed voice.
Snapping out of it, Balot twisted her body out of the way.
Or so she thought, but all of a sudden she felt an impact from behind. She was instantly winded.
Balot pitched forward, tumbling, and felt a bullet slam into her breastbone. The impact wasn’t fully absorbed by her outfit, and she could feel and hear her bones creak under the pressure as her internal organs were compacted.
Balot’s body was flung into the air and only stopped when she collided with the wall a few meters away. A bucketful of saliva spilled from her lips, coating her thighs.
She had just barely managed to avoid dropping her gun.
Out of breath, she stood up, leaned her shoulders against the wall, and saw the figure of Boiled in the distance.
Boiled was stepping down from the ceiling and walking down a pillar. As if he were still walking on the ground. Then, right leg still on the pillar, he extended his other leg to the floor of the garage. Then he alighted onto the ground with both legs and stared at Balot in silence.
Fear drove Balot onward. She fired the gun in her hands over and over with reckless abandon.
Boiled didn’t budge.
None of the bullets completed their course; they just flew off into the ground or the walls.
And then the gun stopped firing completely.
It was as if something were entwined around the trigger.
A creaking sound echoed inside the gun—inside Oeufcoque.
The trigger stopped moving at all, and Oeufcoque’s groans could be heard from the gun in her hands.
“It seems the estrangement is now complete.” Boiled’s cold voice froze Balot to the spot. “A self-defense mechanism against those who abuse him as a tool. Oeufcoque has rejected you.”
His words struck Balot like lightning.
The words were more painful to hear than any of the filthy insults she’d had hurled at her.
This was even more terrible, even more humiliating, and—worst of all—even further beyond the possibility of redemption.
Boiled raised his gun.
A voice came at her from beyond the darkness of the muzzle, from beyond the machinelike intent to kill—a voice that said This is all your fault.
Bad girl.
You’re a bad girl.
Balot was overcome with despair and the fear of being sent back to that awful place.
You were trying too hard to climb the stairway to heaven, the Mardock, that you slipped and lost your footing.
This was her despair.
–I don’t want to die.
She was crying.
She didn’t want to die, not with her heart feeling like this.
Boiled’s fingers moved mechanically, just about to pull back the trigger, when:
“You’re wrong, Boiled…” Oeufcoque spoke.
Boiled’s expression hardened.
At that very same moment, there was a series of clicks from inside Oeufcoque—inside the gun.
The sound of jammed cogs falling into place.
Boiled’s eyes opened wide, and he pulled his trigger.
But an instant before the roaring noise emerged, Balot had reflexively—and correctly—snarced Oeufcoque.
The bullet that sped from Balot’s gun intercepted Boiled’s bullet perfectly, causing it to ricochet into the ceiling. All the walls reverberated from the impact, and concrete fragments rained down.
Balot aimed at Boiled, ready to fire back, but—“Stop it. It’s useless, Balot.”
The gun fired of its own accord, unloading in a different direction, not giving Balot any say in the matter. All the bullets passed by Boiled harmlessly.
And that was exactly what the gun was aiming for.
The bullets pierced the gas tank of the car that had just smashed into the wall behind Boiled.
A moment later the gas tank swelled up—and exploded.
A blast of flame and metal shrapnel swallowed him.
Or so it seemed, but a bubble of clean air had emerged from inside the smoke.
Boiled emerged from it, apparently unscathed, standing still amid the melee of the firestorm, waiting silently.
Before long he noticed that no one was by the wall anymore.
While his attention was diverted by the blast, Balot had disappeared.
Boiled looked toward the elevators.
Seeing the display lights, he realized that one of the two elevators was heading upward.
“Why? Why do you allow your user to abuse you…” Boiled spoke in a low voice, directed at the flashing light.
“Oeufcoque.”
As the elevator light stopped at the roof, Boiled headed straight for the emergency staircase.
His eyes glinted with an uncanny, otherworld
ly fury.
05
–I’m sorry, Oeufcoque, I’m sorry. Please don’t go anywhere. Stay in my hands.
Oeufcoque’s yelps of pain echoed around the cramped elevator box.
However much Oeufcoque might have been suffering previously, the pain was now even worse.
After saving Balot and showing her an escape route—this elevator—Oeufcoque had been overcome by a new wave of convulsions. His limbs were quivering worse than ever, and he was in a state of paroxysm, just as when he had tried to escape from Balot earlier.
He threw up again.
–I’m sorry, Oeufcoque, I’m so sorry.
Inside the lift Balot was folded into a fetal position.
She held Oeufcoque up as if he were broken, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
–Don’t go anywhere, Oeufcoque. Don’t leave me behind. I’m begging you. Please.
Now, finally, Balot understood Oeufcoque’s feelings.
The dreadful thing that had happened.
She had promised to stop when he said no—and she had broken this promise in the worst way imaginable.
She never thought that she’d be capable of such a thing. Why me?
Or so she wanted to think.
She was the one who had always been betrayed.
She was the one who had always had to wonder why and worry about what exactly it was that she’d done wrong, turning it over in her mind in minute detail.
She had never imagined that the shoe could be on the other foot.
That she could be the one to break a promise, to make the other person suffer.
The very idea that she could hurt someone who trusted her—it had never even occurred to her.
“It’s a type of self-defense mechanism, a bit like hyperacute rejection of transplanted organs. An automated response to when my user becomes my abuser…” Oeufcoque spoke between breaths as he lay prostrate. “It’s due to my fear of being disposed of…but don’t worry…I’ll get over it soon.”
The elevator suddenly stopped.
The doors creaked open and revealed a vast expanse of darkness.
From within the small box bathed in orange light, they could see the windswept concrete rooftop and the night vista of the city sprawling out below them in the distance.
Balot stared out at the view in silence, knees still to the ground.
She had no idea what she should do.
She had no idea what the right thing to do was.