Mardock Scramble

by Ubukata, Tow

  A giant shadow loomed over Shell as a young boy. Trace memories—all sorts of indecent things being done to him. But he’d always managed to submerge the memories, the feelings, everything, in the girl, whoever she was. He had repelled all, killed all, and turned everything that was dirty clean. He was proud of this. This was his life.

  He giggled out loud. Uncontrollably, as if his lungs were going into convulsions. Huhh huhh huhh. He scrambled around for the bottle of scotch that lay on the floor. “See! That’s how I find what I’ve dropped. I never lose anything. Shell never drops the ball. Ever.”

  Gleefully, he gulped down the last of the liquid. Then he collapsed face-up on the bed and fell asleep in his euphoric state.

  In Shell’s dreams, the faces of all sorts of women appeared and disappeared.

  Shell tried to remember each of their names, but the harder he tried the more elusive they became.

  Eventually the girls’ faces swarmed together in a bizarre montage, and girls would appear with three eyes or with nipples growing out of their noses. Then the melee of body parts all converged into one face. Shell thought that he cried her name out, in his dream.

  He felt an emotion welling up—love, the sort that makes you want to stick your chest out and hold your head up high. It was for the first woman he had ever truly loved, the one he met only after he’d finally put his mother to rest. Not so much a woman as a girl. But the girl herself had long since disappeared from Shell’s memory, leaving only a lingering scent of her in his dreams. A scent full of sorrow. He wanted to make everything clean. What was it that brought the two of them together, that caused their fates to be intertwined so? The fearful, fearsome past?

  Or were they simply in love? The sad smell seemed to reject every possible explanation.

  A new shadow floated across—the shadow of the girl, dying and wasting away into nothingness. Shell’s ire was turned toward the girl’s father. Shell spent many years tracking him down, and when he’d finally found him, he killed him. But the father’s mind had been completely addled by drugs by then, and he couldn’t even remember the things he had done to his own daughter.

  His memory was gone, just as Shell’s was now. Shell had beat him to a pulp before finally snapping his neck.

  As Shell did so, he remembered his own memory disappearing. He had already forgotten what he was doing even as he did it. I’ll make everything clean. I’m going to clean you up. All sorts of possibilities occurred to him at that moment. He thought up a scheme to launder money. He thought of turning the girl into a Blue Diamond. He thought of making the girl clean again.

  Shell turned the desiccated remains of the girl into a Blue Diamond to wear alongside his mother, and his mind gave up the ghost and his memories faded away completely. His mind may have been in deep turmoil, but he knew how to use people.

  By the time the diamond was ready, Shell’s mind was completely clear. He was relaxed again.

  The Blue Diamonds that shone resplendent in the open air—they were Shell’s last hope.

  In Shell’s dreams, the light shining off the diamonds suddenly changed.

  The spirits of the girls who were to become diamonds. The ghosts of girls whose names he had long since forgotten. Their faces were closed and expressionless, but this only made them seem more alluring than ever. They stared down at their own laps with dark eyes, as if they were looking for a place to hide themselves. Shell’s task was an easy one. All he had to do was give them an appropriate container, a final resting place. He would lead the way for them, guide them.

  Turn them into the most beautiful thing in the world. But it didn’t always go according to plan.

  The girl who had been engulfed by flames came back to life. It was as if she didn’t want to become clean again.

  In his dreams the girl was ablaze and walking toward Shell, step by step, until she finally grabbed hold of him. The fire raged away, centered on the girl, and there was nowhere for Shell to run. Her blackened fingers were around his throat, plastering it with her charred fingerprints.

  Shell screamed. More flames erupted inside the girl, and she squeezed down on his throat with a grip that was gentle but strong, so strong.

  ≡

  Shell bounced up from the bed and realized that there was something on his neck, constricting him, strangling him. He tried to get it off, but his actions were only making things worse.

  Then he realized the truth: he was trying to strangle himself with his own hands.

  His face convulsed in a bitter smile. His whole body was drenched in sweat.

  He took off his Chameleon Sunglasses, now shining like moonlight, and placed his Boston bag on the floor.

  He realized that he was desperately thirsty and went into the bathroom to wash his face and drink some water.

  As he returned to the bedroom he noticed a ringing noise. Not the hotel room phone. Shell jumped for his jacket and scrambled for his cell phone, which he found after a couple seconds’ fumbling. “Boiled?”

  –Yes.

  That sturdy voice. Shell smiled and put his sunglasses back on.

  “I’ve just had the worst dream. Like a bad trip. A girl was on fire and she tried to strangle me,” Shell said, relieved that help was now at hand. “Have you prepared everything as I asked you? I’m going to head upstream into a different state. Once I’ve crossed the state borders, I’m a new person. I’ll play it steady from now on. I’ll use my money to set up a legit business. No more gambling for me. That’s all over.”

  –I’ve received a new commission from OctoberCorp. I need to explain it to you clearly. On top of that—

  “What are you talking about, Boiled? Who cares about OctoberCorp anymore? I’m leaving this place, saying goodbye forever to the whole damn city. I’m heading back to my roots.”

  Boiled considered this in silence for a minute before answering.

  –I thought that you were born in this city, on the East Side.

  “What? Forget about that for now. Home is wherever I hang my hat. If I succeed there, that’s where my roots are. I don’t know where to, but I’m heading back home now. And I’m grateful to you, Boiled, I really am. If you hadn’t been there for me, that girl would have crushed me. Strangled me with her bare hands. I really am grateful. You’re a true friend.”

  –Is that right?

  “It is! My only real friend. You’re my rock—there’s no one I can rely on quite like you. You’ve saved my neck so many times. Let’s stay in touch. Right, Boiled?”

  –The PIs for the other side are looking for you right now. We’ve had to publish your rough location, so they’re most probably already in your area. Try not to make yourself too conspicuous. It’s probably best you wait until dawn—any ships leaving your area may be tailed. Everything changes if they find you.

  Shell’s brow furrowed, as if he didn’t quite understand Boiled’s meaning. “Are you saying you’ve been feeding them information?”

  –Information Disclosure. Unless we publicly share certain stipulated pieces of information, our opposing case won’t be approved. I wouldn’t be able to work for you.

  Shell frowned, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.

  “I’ve got a bit of a headache, and I don’t think I’m following you. Here I am telling you that you’re a valued friend to me, one I know would never betray me…”

  Boiled was silent again. This time the pause was a long one. Shell thought he could hear the faintest of murmuring from the other side of the phone, but then suddenly the line was cut off. Shell looked at his cell phone with an uneasy expression.

  The phone rang again. Surprised, Shell put it to his ear. “Boiled? What are you playing at?”

  –I don’t want to die.

  It was the voice of a girl. Shell stopped breathing. He felt as if the blood had frozen in his veins.

  –But still you kill me.

  Shell’s mouth was agape and his heart beat furiously.

  The image of the girl in flames came
rushing back. The girl who took his precious chips, her face ablaze. Her name too flamed back into his mind.

  There was a noise at his ear that gradually came together in the form of a man’s voice.

  –Mr. Shell…

  It was Boiled. Tears of relief flooded Shell’s eyes. “What was that voice just then? Was it trying to scare me?”

  –You’re listening in on this line, aren’t you, Oeufcoque? You’re near Shell right now, right?

  “What? What’s that? God damn it, I’m asking you a question, Boiled, answer me!”

  –I’ll take care of you, Oeufcoque. Go and retrieve your bait. Then I’ll appear. That’s how we’ll do this.

  Shell shook his head. The area at the back of his head and neck throbbed with pain.

  –Very well, Boiled. We’ll secure Shell’s person from our side.

  A new voice echoed down the line, one that Shell had never heard before, and he was hit with another bolt of fear. His whole body was now drenched in his own cold sweat.

  –We’ve already finished evacuating the other guests from the hotel. We are going to solve this case according to official procedure. In order to do so we need to ensure that Shell remains safe. We have no desire to fight with you, Boiled.

  –We are just tools, Oeufcoque, born into this world in order to create nihility. You’re a self-aware tool, and I’m a human who wants to become a gun. Even your current user really wants to be able to use you to kill. She just wants to do so legally, that’s all.

  –Stop talking such garbage, Boiled. What are you hoping to achieve by killing Shell? What use is there in massacring everyone in sight? What will be born of that?

  Shell frowned.

  –It’s not my job to be concerned about what may or may not be born, Oeufcoque.

  –So you’re throwing your lot in with OctoberCorp, are you? That’s your choice, is it, Boiled?

  “Boiled! Are you planning to kill me? You are, aren’t you? You’re planning to kill me!”

  –Mr. Shell. I really do think we would have worked well together. We could have been far more than just patron and client…

  Shell’s face twisted. Boiled continued in his characteristic whispering tones.

  –It’s a shame that circumstances have changed.

  Then there was another noise—a number of sounds screeching together. The phone went dead.

  ≡

  Shell stood rooted to the spot, the lenses in his Chameleon Sunglasses changing from pale blue to stormy black. Everything was unreal, a dream, but then Shell snapped to and snatched up his Boston bag and checked its side pocket for the reassuring feel of cold steel.

  He pulled his automatic handgun out, not even bothering to check the magazine before pressing it down against his leg, then hauled his bag over his shoulder. He felt more rooted, more secure.

  Suddenly his cell phone started ringing again. Shell gritted his teeth and answered.

  –This is Oeufcoque-Penteano here, PI and Trustee for this case. We are going to take you into our protection. Remain there until we secure a safe route for your escape. When we arrive, we will expect you to hand over all your weapons and come peacefully.

  “Fuck off!” Shell yelled, flinging his phone to the floor and grinding it with his foot. The phone was destroyed, the sound cut off.

  Breathing roughly, his shoulders heaving up and down, Shell ran around the room quickly to turn all the lights out.

  The bedroom was on the second floor. Shell hid behind the curtains, peeking out of the window to try and catch a glimpse of what was happening outside.

  The lights in the room all flared back on. Suddenly, of their own accord. Shell watched in shock. The night lamp was on, the bathroom light was on, and the ventilator in the bathroom was on, roaring. Shell’s face was soaking wet—it was impossible to tell where the sweat ended and the tears started.

  Then there was another sound. It was the old television, right next to Shell. There was white noise, and then the image of a girl appeared on the screen. Her mouth opened in a round shape, and her wide eyes and rigid fingers seemed like they were about to reach out for Shell’s throat at any moment.

  –I didn’t want to die.

  Shell watched in horror with bloodshot eyes as he listened to the girl’s voice.

  –But I was killed by you anyway.

  Shell pointed his gun at the television and fired repeatedly. The monitor exploded, and sparks flew out into the room. The image of the girl and her voice were wiped cleanly away. He had made everything clean. Clean—and he felt his gut wrenching inside. His mouth was filled with the taste of sour liquid, and he bent over double and vomited copiously.

  His body heaved repeatedly, and sticky yellow liquid drooled from his mouth.

  When he had finished, Shell stood back up and fired a shot at the ceiling light and at the bathroom light. He put his hand to the doorknob and gripped it tight.

  He was so frightened that his hair practically stood on end. There was a horrifying shade on the other side of the door, he knew it. The thing that he had always fought to repel, to make disappear—it was back, alive again, and standing right there.

  Shell flung open the door with all his might and jumped out, brandishing his gun. He was confronted by an empty corridor.

  Shell’s last remaining shards of reason forced him to notice that something was very strange about this whole situation.

  Despite all the noise and gunfire coming from his room, there was not a single person about. There was no sign of commotion.

  He was suddenly struck by the feeling that whichever way he tried to go now, whatever he tried to do, the outcome would be the same.

  A horrible place to be. Flashbacks—his whole body convulsed at the thought that he would never, could never, take another step again.

  –Please do as I ask—it makes things so much more inconvenient otherwise.

  The voice came from behind him, and Shell jumped. His whole body seemed to shriek. Shell’s eyes darted around looking for the source of the voice as if his life depended on it.

  –You see down there? Room 202? It seems that you can use one of its windows to jump across to the next building.

  The voice was coming from the intercom of the room he had just stepped out of.

  He shot it, almost instinctively. Past the door and straight into the intercom. His bullets had run out before he even knew it. Shell stuck his hand back into his bag.

  Some money fell out, bills fluttering about. Shell found the spare magazine he was looking for and reloaded his gun with a trembling hand, making for the elevator as he did so.

  He had absolutely no idea what he should do next. If he saw something that moved, he planned to shoot it. His mind couldn’t conceive of anything other than to kill.

  He pressed the button and an elevator appeared almost immediately. Shell suppressed a wave of nausea and jumped aboard. His fingers shook uncontrollably as he lifted them up to the buttons. Eventually he managed to steady them long enough to press the button for the first floor. But the door wouldn’t close. On the other side of the door was a wide stretch of open corridor that ran both left and right. He felt hopelessly trapped.

  –You do make us work for it, don’t you? The first floor of the hotel is closed, off-limits. The emergency stairs, now, they would have been one thing. But I really didn’t expect you to try the elevator.

  The voice was coming from inside the elevator. Shell held his breath, and a beat later his mouth was filled with sour liquid again. He kept it down, trying to steady his gun.

  “What are you? Where are you speaking from?” Shell realized where the voice was coming from almost immediately after he said the words—the elevator’s emergency circuits.

  –I’m inside the building behind this hotel. Come over here and you’ll have any number of escape routes.

  “Who are you?”

  –I’m one of the private investigators in charge of this case. A Trustee. Just think of me as someone you want to d
o business with.

  “A PI…” Shell took a deep breath. His forehead was pounding. He squeezed his gun tightly and asked another question. “Are you planning to kill me?”

  –On the contrary. You should think of me as your only friend for miles around.

  “What sort of business are you talking about? What is it you want with me?”

  –We’ll discuss that properly once you follow our escape route and make it out of there safely. Hmm, room 202 is no good anymore. I can sense that Boiled is watching it. Anyway, all you need to know is that I’m here to preserve your life. In return, we expect you to cooperate fully as an effective witness on our side. We will expect you to pay for your own crimes in full, of course.

  “What are you talking about? How are you going to get me out of here? Where are you taking me?”

  –Try and stay calm. Room 207—the bathroom window there. You should be able to reach the window of the building on the other side.

  Shell’s breathing was all over the place, but he made up his mind, and with flashing eyes he stepped out of the elevator.

  He made a beeline for room 207. He reached for the doorknob, and the moment before he touched it he heard a click. The electronic lock had been lifted. Shell pushed the door with the muzzle of his gun, and it swung lazily into the room.

  There was no sign of life inside the room. No trace of a person that might have opened the lock on the door. Shell entered the bathroom as ordered.

  There was, indeed, a window there. He looked out of it, and it did seem that he might be able to cross over to the next building. Shell shot the window frame to dislodge it, then kicked the whole window out of the building. A musty wind blew in from outside.

  Shell stuck his head out through the rectangular space, and, bag still on his shoulder, he maneuvered awkwardly, stretching his leg out toward the next building, where an open window was already awaiting him.